UMVl  li 

LOS 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

INCLUSIVE  EDITION 

1885-1918 


BOOKS   BY  RUDYARD  KlPLING 


ACTIONS  AND  REACTIONS 

BRUSHWOOD  BOY,  THE 

CAPTAINS  COURAGEOUS 

COLLECTED  VERSE 

DAY'S  WORK,  THE 

DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES 
AND  BALLADS  AND  BAR- 
RACK-ROOM BALLADS 

DIVERSITY  OF  CREATURES, 
A 

EYES  or  ASIA,  THE 

FIVE  NATIONS,  THE 

FRANCE  AT  WAR 

FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  A 

JUNGLE  BOOK,  THE 

JUNGLE  BOOK,  SECOND 

JUST  So  SONG  BOOK 

JUST  So  STORIES 

KIM 

KIPLING  STORIES  AND 
POEMS  EVERY  CHILD 
SHOULD  KNOW 

KIPLING  BIRTHDAY  BOOK, 
THE 

LIFE'S  HANDICAP:  BEING 
STORIES  OF  MINE  Own 
PEOPLE 


LIGHT  THAT  FAILED,  THE 

MANY  INVENTIONS 

NAULAHKA,  THE  (With 
Wolcott  Balestier) 

PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE 
HILLS 

PUCK  or  POOR'S  HILL 

REWARDS  AND  FAIRIES 

SEA  WARFARE 

SEVEN  SEAS,  THE 

SOLD.IEH  STORIES 

SOLDIERS  THREE,  THE 
STORY  OF  THE  GADSBYS, 
AND  IN  BLACK  AND 
WHITE 

SONG  OF  THE  ENGLISH,  A 

SONGS  FROM  BOOKS 

STALKY  &  Co. 

THEY 

TRAFFICS  AND  DISCOVER- 
IES 

UNDER  THE  DEODARS/THE 
PHANTOM  'RICKSHAW, 
AND  WEE  WTmxE  WIN- 
•  KIE 

WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

YEARS  BETWEEN,  THE 


THE 

SlTV 
IX** 


ffi 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S 
VERSE 

INCLUSIVE   EDITION 


1885-1918 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1919 


COPYRIGHT 

1891,  1892,  1893,  1894,  1895,  I896,  1897,  1899, 

1900,  1901,  1903,  1904,  1905,  1906,  1907, 

1909,  1910,  1911,  1912,  1913,  1914, 

1915,  1916,  1917,  1918,  1919, 

BY  RUDYARD  KIPLING 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT 

THE  VERSES  FROM  THE  FIRST  AND  SECOND  JUNGLE  BOOKS 
ARE  INCLUDED  BY  COURTESY  OF 

THE  CENTURY  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

PACE 

"A  Servant  When  He  Reigneth" 628 

Absent-Minded  Beggar,  The 522 

American,  An 210 

American  Rebellion,  The 762 

Anchor  Song 127 

"Angutivaun  Taina" 733 

Answer,  The 425 

Anvil,  The "...  748 

Arithmetic  on  the  Frontier 50 

Army  Headquarters $ 

"As  the  Bell  Clinks" 59 

Astrologer's  Song,  An 654 

"  Back  to  the  Army  Again" 487 

Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone,  The 293 

Ballad  of  Burial,  A 35 

Ballad  of  East  and  West,  The .268 

Ballad  of  Fisher's  Boarding-House,  The 45 

Ballad  of  Minepit  Shaw,  The 725 

Ballad  of  the  Bolivar,  The 156 

Ballad  of  the  Champherdown,  The 158 

Ballad  of  the  King's  Jest,  The 283 

Ballad  of  the  King's  Mercy,  The 279 

Ballad  of  the  Red  Earl,  The 263 

Ballade  of  Jakko  Hill,  A 56 

Bee-Boy's  Song,  The 659 

Bees  and  the  Flies,  The .  609 

"Before  a  Midnight  Breaks  in  Storm" 337 

Beginnings,  The 739 

Bell  Buoy,  The 339 

Bells  and  Queen  Victoria,  The         768 

Belts 472 

Benefactors,  The 391 

Betrothed,  The 53 

Big  Steamers 765 

Bill  'Awkins 504 

"Birds  of  Prey"  March 490 

Blue  Roses 695 

"Bobs" 449 

Boots 538 

v 


2038145 


CONTENTS 

Boy  Scouts' Patrol  Song,  A 314 

Bridge-Guard  in  the  Karroo 234 

British-Roman  Song,  A 614 

Broken  Men,  The .      .  no 

Brookland  Road 559 

"Brown  Bess" 760 

Buddha  at  Kamakura 105 

Burial,  The 239 

Butterflies 697 

"By  the  Hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat" 690 

Captive,  The 598 

Carol,  A 579 

Chant-Pagan 524 

Cells     ..." 460 

Certain  Maxims  of  Hafiz 68 

Chapter  Headings 

Beast  and  Man  in  India 634 

Fringes  of  the  Fleet 639 

Just-So  Stories 669 

Kim 637 

Life's  Handicap 636 

Many  Inventions 637 

Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills 573 

The  Jungle  Books 705 

The  Light  That  Failed 606 

The  Naulahka 603 

Charm,  A 569 

Chil's  Song 597 

Children,  The 587 

Children's  Song,  The 642 

Choice,  The 212 

Cholera  Camp 500 

Christmas  in  India 61 

"  Cities  and  Thrones  and  Powers" 554 

City  of  Sleep,  The 677 

"Cleared" 259 

Coastwise  Lights,  The 195 

Code  of  Morals,  A 13 

Cold  Iron 577 

Columns ,      .      .  530 

Comforters,  The 68 1 

Conundrum  of  the  Workshops,  The 386 

Covenant,  The 367 

Craftsman,  The 400 

Cruisers      .  .161 


CONTENTS 


Cuckoo  Song 568 

•Danegeld 747 

Danny  Deever 451 

Darzee's  Chaunt 737 

Dawn  Wind,  The 752 

Dead  King,  The 256 

Death-Bed,  A 329 

Declaration  of  London,  The 354 

Dedication  from  "  Barrack  Room  Ballads" 9$ 

Dedication — To  Soldiers  Three 700 

Deep-Sea  Cables,  The 199 

Delilah 7 

Derelict,  The 170 

Destroyers,  The 164 

Dirge  of  Dead  Sisters 249 

Divided  Destinies 38 

Dove  of  Dacca,  The 291 

Dutch  in  the  Medwr.v,  T!:c 759 

Dykes,  The     .     . 352 

'Eathen,  The 513 

Eddi's  Servise 581 

Edgehill  Fight 758 

Egg-Shell,  The 710 

En-Dor 417 

England's  Answer 203 

English  Flag,  The 252 

Epitaphs  of  the  War       » 440 

Et  Dona  Ferentes      .      .      .      .      .      .      .     . 331 

Evarra  and  His  Gods 388 

Exiles  Line,  The 187 

Explanation,  The 423 

Explorer,  The 119 

Fabulists,  The 61 1 

Fairies'  Siege,  The 587 

Fall  of  Jock  Gillespie,  The 73 

Female  of  the  Species,  The 418 

Feet  of  the  Young  Men,  The 311 

Files,  The 401 

Fires,  The 93 

First  Chantey,  The 183 

Floods,  The 567 

Flowers,  The 216 

"Follow  Me  'Ome" 507 

"For  All  We  Have  and  Arc" 378 

"  For  to  Admire"      ' 520 

vii 


CONTENTS 

FAGB 

Ford  o'  Kabul  River 481 

Four  Angels,  The 738 

France 335 

Frankie's  Trade 729 

French  Wars,  The 764 

"  Fuzzy-Wuzzy" 455 

Galley-Slave,  The. 84 

Gallio's  Song  . , 608 

Gehazi 277 

General  Joubert 277 

General  Summary,  A 4 

Gentlemen-Rankers 483 

Gethsemane 112 

Giffen's  Debt 90 

Gift  of  the  Sea,  The 426 

Gipsy  Trail,  The 207 

Glory  of  the  Garden,  The 769 

Gow's  Watch 684 

Grave  of  the  Hundred  Head,  The 63 

Great-Heart 771 

Greek  National  Anthem,  The 107 

Gunga  Din 462 

Hadramanti 601 

Half-Ballad  of  Waterval 544 

Harp  Song  of  the  Dane  Women 593 

"Helen  All  Alone" 678 

Heriot's  Ford ' 727 

Heritage,  The 632 

Holy  War,  The 333 

Houses,  The 204 

Hunting-Song  of  the  Seeonee  Pack 734 

Hyaenas,  The 365 

Hymn  Before  Action 373 

If- .645 

Imperial  Rescript,  An 327 

In  Springtime 89 

Instructor,  The 537 

In  the  Matter  of  One  Compass 193 

In  the  Neolithic  Age 393 

Irish  Guards,  The 224 

Islanders,  The 347 

Jacket,  The 511 

James  I . 757 

Jester,  The • 650 

Jobson's  Amen 571 

viii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Jubal  and  Tubal  Cain 622 

Juggler's  Song,  The 730 

Justice 446 

King  Henry  VII  and  the  Shipwrights 721 

King,  The 429 

King's  Job,  The 753 

King's  Task,  The 712 

Kingdom,  The 562 

Kitchener's  School 231 

L'Envoi 93 

La  Nuit  Blanche 31 

Ladies,  The 502 

Lament  of  the  Border  Cattle  Thief,  The 309 

Land,  The 666 

Last  Chantey,  The 184 

Last  Department,  The 23 

Last  of  the  Light  Brigade,  The 228 

Last  Rhyme  of  True  Thomas,  The 430 

Last  Suttee,  The 273 

Law  of  the  Jungle,  The 626 

Legend  of  Mirth,  The 582 

Legend  of  the  Foreign  Office,  A 9 

Legends  of  Evil,  The 404 

Lesson,  The 344 

Lichtenberg 541 

Liner  She's  a  Lady,  The 181 

Long  Trail,  The .' 189 

Looking-Glass,  The 675 

Loot 466 

Lord  Roberts 233 

Lost  Legion,  The 222 

Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal,  The •'.      '.     ,/,  •      •  7°° 

Lovers'  Litany,  The 34 

Lowestoft  Boat,  The :  .,  f  ,.,,,..      .  717 

"Lukannon" 653 

M.I.     -     - ^ 5*7 

M  'Andrew's  Hymn 137 

Macdonough's  Song «     ,     .  630 

Man  Who  Could  Write,  The 19 

Mandalay 476 

Married  Man,  The 539 

Mary  Gloster,  The 147 

"Mary  Pity  Women!" 518 

Mary's  Son 426 

Masque  of  Plenty,  The 39 

ii 


CONTENTS 


Merchantmen,  The 172 

Merrow  Down 662 

Mesopotamia 346 

Mine  Sweepers 693 

Miracles,  The 101 

Moon  of  Other  Days,  The 72 

Morning  Song  of  the  Jungle 694 

Mother-Lodge,  The 505 

Mother  o*  Mine 701 

Mowgli's  Song  Against  People         703 

Mulholland's  Contract 145 

Municipal 22 

My  Boy  Jack 247 

My  Father's  Chair 752 

My  Lady's  Law 698 

"My  New-Cut  Ashlar" 580 

My  Rival 25 

Native  Born,  The 218 

Nativity,  A 248 

Natural  Theology 395 

Necessitarian,  The 648 

New  Knighthood,  The 590 

Norman  and  Saxon 749 

North  Sea  Patrol,  The 731 

Nursing  Sister,  The 699 

Old  Issue,  The 341 

Old  Men,  The 368 

Old  Mother  Laidinwool 664 

Old  Song,  An 66 

Oldest  Song,  The 181 

One  Viceroy  Resigns 78 

Only  Son,  The 702 

Oonts 464 

"Our  Fathers  Also"         612 

"Our  Fathers  of  Old", 631 

Our  Lady  of  the  Snows 208 

Outlaws,  The 370 

Outsong  in  the  Jungle 591 

Overland  Mail,  The 37 

Pagett,  M.  P. 29 

Palace,  The 43® 

Pan  in  Vermont 407 

Parade  Song  of  the  Camp-Animals 643 

Parting  of  the  Columns,  The 533 

Pharaoh  and  the  Sergeant 226 

x 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Pict  Song,  A 614 

Piet 546 

Pilgrim's  Way,  A 423 

Pink  Dominoes 20 

Pirates  in  England,  The 746 

Plea  of  the  Simla  Dancers,  The 57 

"Poor  Honest  Men" 618 

Poseidon's  Law 716 

Possibilities 49 

Post  that  Fitted,  The 12 

Prairie,  The 570 

Prayer,  The 740 

Prayer  of  Miriam  Cohen,  The 680 

Prelude  to  Departmental  Ditties 3 

Press,  The 600 

Pro-Consuls,  The 123 

Prodigal  Son,  The 646 

Prophets  at  Home 621 

Public  Waste 15 

Puck's  Song 555 

Puzzler,  The ' 599 

Queen's  Men,  The 676 

Question,  The 376 

Rabbi's  Song,  The 658 

Rebirth 649 

Recall,  The 554 

Recantation,  A 421 

Recessional •    . 377 

Reeds  of  Runnymede,  The 750 

Reformers,  The 366 

Return,  The , 551 

Return  of  the  Children,  The 661 

Rhyme  of  the  Three  Captains,  The 381 

Rhyme  of  the  Three  Sealers 129 

Rimini 617 

Rimmon 359 

Ripple  Song,  A 696 

River's  Tale,  The 743 

Road-Song  of  the  Ban  Jar-Log 610 

Roman  Centurion's  Song,  The 744 

Romulus  and  Remus 704 

Route  Marchin* 484 

Rowers,  The 325 

Run  of  the  Downs,  The 558 

Rupaiyat  of  Omar  Kal'vin,  The 28 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Russia  to  the  Pacifists 319 

Sack  of  the  Gods,  The 560 

Sacrifice  of  Er-Heb,  The 302 

St.  Helena  Lullaby,  A 596 

Sappers 494 

School  Song,  A 623 

Screw-Guns 458 

Sea  and  the  Hills,  The 125 

Sea-Wife,  The 108 

Second  Voyage,  The 179 

Secret  of  the  Machines,  The 766 

Sergeant's  Weddin',  The 509 

Service  Man,  The 522 

Sestina  of  the  Tramp-Royal 100 

Settler,  The 242 

Seven  Watchmen 448 

Shillin'  a  Day 486 

Shiv  and  the  Grasshopper 585 

Shut-Eye  Sentry,  The 516 

Sir  Richard's  Song 564 

Smuggler's  Song,  A 720 

"Snarleyow" 469 

Soldier,  Soldier '.     ...  457 

"Soldier  an' Sailor  Too" 492 

Song  at  Cock-Crow,  A 374 

Song  in  Storm,  A 169 

Song  of  Diego  Valdez,  The 175 

Song  of  Kabir,  A 578 

Song  of  the  Banjo,  The 113 

Song  of  the  Cities,  The 200 

Song  of  the  Dead,  The   .    • 196 

Song  of  the  English,  A 194 

Song  of  the  Fifth  River 640 

Song  of  the  Lathes,  The 357 

Song  of  the  Little  Hunter,  The 683 

Song  of  the  Men's  Side 735 

Song  of  the  Red  War-Boat 691 

Song  of  the  Sons,  The 200 

Song  of  the  White  Men,  A 324 

Song  of  the  Wise  Children 103 

Song  of  the  Women,  The 52 

Song  of  Seven  Cities,  The 660 

Song  of  Travel,  A 651 

Song  to  Mithras,  A 589 

Sons  of  Martha^  The 436 

xii 


CONTENTS 

MM 

South  Africa 237 

Spies'  March,  The 117 

Stellenbosh 543 

Story  of  Ung,  The 397 

Story  of  Uriah,  The II 

Study  of  an  Elevation,  in  India  Ink 6 

Stranger,  The 616 

Sussex 244 

Tale  of  Two  Cities,  A 86 

Tarrant  Moss 562 

That  Day 497 

"The  City  of  Brass" 361 

"The  Men  That  Fought  at  Minden" 498 

"The  Power  of  the  Dog" .  656 

"The  Trade" *  .      .  711 

Things  and  the  Man 240 

Thorkild's  Song 732 

Thousandth  Man,  The 594 

Three-Decker,  The 379 

Three-Part  Song,  A   . 558 

To  the  City  of  Bombay  .                       205 

To  the  True  Romance 97 

To  the  Unknown  Goddess 26 

To  Thomas  Atkins 448 

"Together  " 756 

Tomlinson .     , 411 

Tommy 453 

Translation,  A 652 

Tree  Song,  A '.  565 

Troopin' 478 

Truce  of  the  Bear,  The 316 

Truthful  Song,  A '.....  718 

Two  Kopjes 535 

Two  Months ..-.'.      .      .      .  92 

Two-Sided  Man,  The 652 

Ubique ..'..,.  550 

Ulster '.     v     ..*...  266 

Undertaker's  Horse,  The 77 

Vampire,  The 251 

Verdicts,  The 163 

Verses  on  Games 408 

Veterans,  The 351 

Virginity,  The 403 

Voortrekker,  The 623 

Wage-Slaves,  The 355 

xiii 


CONTENTS 

KMl 

Way  Through  the  Woods,  The 557 

Wet  Litany,  The -7*4 

What  Happened 17 

What  the  People  said         .             75 

When  Earth's  Last  Picture  is  Painted 258 

"When  the  Great  Ark" 620 

White  Horses 166 

White  Man's  Burden,  The 371 

Widow  at  Windsor,  The .  470 

Widow's  Party,  The     . 479 

Widower,  The :      .  680 

"Wilful-Missing" 548 

Winners,  The 595 

Wishing  Caps,  The .689 

With  Drake  in  the  Tropics 755 

With  Scindia  to  Delhi 286 

Young  British  Soldier,  The 474 

Young  Queen,  The 214 

Zion 104 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

INCLUSIVE  EDITION 

1885-1918 


PRELUDE 

(To  Departmental  Ditties') 

I  have  eaten  your  bread  and  salt. 

I  have  drunk  your  water  and  wine. 
The  deaths  ye  died  I  have  watched  beside, 

And  the  lives  ye  led  were  mine. 


Was  there  aught. that  I  did  not  share 

In  vigil  or  toil  or  ease, — 
One  joy  or  woe  that  I  did  not  know, 

Dear  hearts  across  the  seas  ? 


I  have  written  the  tale  of  our  life 
For  a  sheltered  people's  mirth, 

In  jesting  guise — but  ye  are  wise, 
And  ye  know  what  the  jest  is  worth. 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

A  GENERAL  SUMMARY 

\\7"E  are  very  slightly  changed 

From  the  semi-apes  who  ranged 
India's  prehistoric  clay; 
He  that  drew  the  longest  bow 
Ran  his  brother  down,  you  know, 
As  we  run  men  down  to-day. 

"Dowb,"  the  first  of  all  his  race, 
Met  the  Mammoth  face  to  face 

On  the  lake  or  in  the  cave: 
Stole  the  steadiest  canoe, 
Ate  the  quarry  others  slew, 

Died — and  took  the  finest  grave. 

When  they  scratched  the  reindeer-bone, 
Some  one  made  the  sketch  his  own, 

Filched  it  from  the  artist — then, 
Even  in  those  early  days, 
Won  a  simple  Viceroy's  praise 

Through  the  toil  of  other  men. 
Ere  they  hewed  the  Sphinx's  visage 
Favouritism  governed  kissage, 

Even  as  it  does  in  this  age. 

Who  shall  doubt  "  the  secret  hid 
Under  Cheops'  pyramid" 
Was  that  the  contractor  did 

Cheops  out  of  several  millions? 
Or  that  Joseph's  sudden  rise 
To  Comptroller  of  Supplies 
Was  a  fraud  of  monstrous  size 

On  King  Pharaoh's  swart  Civilians? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918 

Thus,  the  artless  songs  I  sing 
Do  not  deal  with  anything 

New  or  never  said  before. 
As  it  was  in  the  beginning 
Is  to-day  official  sinning, 

And  shall  be  for  evermore ! 


ARMY  HEADQUARTERS 

Old  is  the  song  that  I  sing — 

Old  as  my  unpaid  bills — 
Old  as  the  chicken  that  kitmutgars1  bring 

Men  at  dak-bungalows — old  as  the  Hills. 

A  HASUERUS  JENKINS  of  the  "Operatic  Own," 

Was  dowered  with  a  tenor  voice  of  super-Sant\ey  tone. 
His  views  on  equitation  were,  perhaps,  a  trifle  queer. 
He  had  no  seat  worth  mentioning,  but  oh!  he  had  an  ear. 

He  clubbed  his  wretched  company  a  dozen  times  a  day; 
He  used  to  quit  his  charger  in  a  parabolic  way; 
His  method  of  saluting  was  the  joy  of  all  beholders, 
But  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  had  a  head  upon  his  shoulders. 

He  took  two  months  at  Simla  when  the  year  was  at  the 

spring, 

And  underneath  the  deodars  eternally  did  sing. 
He  warbled  like  a  bul-bul*  but  particularly  at 
Cornelia  Agrippina,  who  was  musical  and  fat. 

She  controlled  a  humble  husband,  who,  in  turn,  controlled  a 

Dept. 

Where  Cornelia  Agrippina's  human  singing-birds  were  kept 
From  April  to  October  on  a  plump  retaining-fee, 
Supplied,  of  course,  per  mensem^  by  the  Indian  Treasury. 
1  Waiters.  'Nightingale. 


6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Cornelia  used  to  sing  with  him,  and  Jenkins  used  to  play; 
He  praised  unblushingly  her  notes,  for  he  was  false  as  theyj 
So  when,  the  winds  of  April  turned  the  budding  roses  brown, 
Cornelia  told  her  husband: — "Tom,  you  mustn't  send  him 
down." 


They  haled  him  from  his  regiment,  which  didn't  much  regret 

him; 
They  found  for  him  an  office-stool,  and  on  that  stool  they  set 

him 

To  play  with  maps  and  catalogues  three  idle  hours  a  day, 
And  draw  his  plump  retaining-fee — which  means  his  double 

pay. 

Now,  ever  after  dinner,  when  the  coffee-cups  are  brought, 
Ahasuerus  waileth  o'er  the  grand  pianoforte; 
And,  thanks  to  fair  Cornelia,  his  fame  hath  waxen  great, 
And  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  is  a  Power  in  the  State! 


STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION,  IN  INDIAN  INK 

This  ditty  is  a  string  of  lies. 

But — how  the  deuce  did  Gubbins  rise? 

pOTIPHAR  GUBBINS,  C.  E., 

Stands  at  the  top  of  the  tree; 
And  I  muse  in  my  bed  on  the  reasons  that  led 
To  the  hoisting  of  Potiphar  G. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.E., 
Is  seven  years  junior  to  Me; 

Each  bridge  that  he  makes  either  buckles  or  breaks, 
And  his  work  is  as  rough  as  he. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.E., 
Is  coarse  as  a  chimpanzee; 

And  I  can't  understand  why  you  gave  him  your  hand, 
Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.E., 
Is  dear  to  the  Powers  that  Be; 
For  They  bow  and  They  smile  in  an  affable  style, 
Which  is  seldom  accorded  to  Me. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.E., 
Is  certain  as  certain  can  be 

Of  a  highly  paid  post  which  is  claimed  by  a  host 
Of  seniors — including  Me. 

Careless  and  lazy  is  he, 
Greatly  inferior  to  Me. 
What  is  the  spell  that  you  manage  so  well, 
Commonplace  Potiphar  G.? 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee, 
Let  me  inquire  of  thee, 
Should  I  have  riz  to  what  Potiphar  is, 

Hadst  thou  been  mated  to  Me? 


DELILAH 

We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are  dead  and  done 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  depraved  Ulysses  Gunne. 

QELILAH  ABERYSWITH  was  a  lady— not  too  young— 
With  a  perfect  taste  in    dresses    and    a    badly-bitted 

tongue, 

With  a  thirst  for  information,  and  a  greater  thirst  for  praise, 
And  a  little  house  in  Simla  in  the  Prehistoric  Days. 


8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

By  reason  of  her  marriage  to  a  gentleman  in  power, 
Delilah  was  acquainted  with  the  gossip  of  the  hour; 
And  many  little  secrets,  of  the  half-official  kind, 
Were  whispered  to  Delilah,  and  she  bore  them  all  in  mind. 


She  patronised  extensively  a  man,  Ulysses  Gunne, 
Whose  mode  of  earning  money  was  a  low  and  shameful  one. 
He  wrote  for  certain  papers  which,  as  everybody  knows, 
Is  worse  than  serving  in  a  shop  or  scaring  off  the  crows. 


He  praised  her  "queenly  beauty"  first;  and.  later  on,  he 

hinted 

At  the  "  vastness  of  her  intellect"  with  compliment  unstinted. 
He  went  with  her  a-riding,  and  his  love  for  her  was  such, 
That  he  lent  her  all  his  horses  and — she  galled  them  very 

much. 


One  day,  THEY  brewed  a  secret  of  a  fine  financial  sort; 
It  related  to  Appointments,  to  a  Man  and  a  Report. 
'Twas  almost  worth  the  keeping, — only  seven  people  knew 

it — 
And  Gunne  rose  up  to  seek  the  truth  and  patiently  ensue  it. 


It  was  a  Viceroy's  Secret,  but — perhaps  the  wine  was  red — 
Perhaps  an  Aged  Councillor  had  lost  his  aged  head — 
Perhaps    Delilah's    eyes    were    bright — Delilah's    whispers 

sweet — 
The  Aged  Member  told  her  what  'twere  treason  to  repeat. 


Ulysses  went  a-riding,  and  they  talked  of  love  and  flowers; 
Ulysses  went  a-calling,  and  he  called  for  several  hours; 
Ulysses  went  a-waltzing,  and  Delilah  helped  him  dance — 
Ulysses  let  the  waltzes  go,  and  waited  for  his  chance. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  9 

The  summer  sun  was  setting,  and  the  summer  air  was  still, 
The  couple  went  a-walking  in  the  shade  of  Summer  Hill. 
The  wasteful  sunset  faded  out  in  turkis-green  and  gold, 
Ulysses  pleaded  softly,  and     .     .     .     that  bad  Delilah  told! 

Next  morn,  a  startled  Empire  learnt  the  all-important  news; 
Next  week,  the  Aged  Councillor  was  shaking  in  his  shoes. 
Next  month,  I  met  Delilah  and  she  did  not  show  the  least 
Hesitation  in  affirming  that  Ulysses  was  a  "beast." 


We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are  dead  and 

done — 
Of,  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  most  mean  Ulysses  Gunne! 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE 

This  is  the  reason  why  Rustum  Beg, 

Rajahof  Kolazai, 
Drinketh  the  "simpkin"1  and  brandy  peg, 

Maketh  the  money  to  fly, 
Vexeth  a  Government,  tender  and  kind, 
Also — but  this  is  a  detail — blind. 


DUSTUM   BEG  of  Kolazai— slightly   backward    Native 

State- 
Lusted  for  a  C.  S.  I.2 — so  began  to  sanitate. 
Built  a  Gaol  and  Hospital — nearly  built  a  City  drain — 
Till  his  faithful  subjects  all  thought  their  ruler  was  insane. 

Strange    departures    made    he     then — yea,    Departments 

stranger  still: 

Half  a  dozen  Englishmen  helped  the  Rajah  with  a  will, 
Talked  of  noble  aims  and  high,  hinted  of  a  future  fine 
For  the  State  of  Kolazai,  on  a  strictly  Western  line. 
1  Champagne.  'The  order  of  the  Star  of  India. 


io  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Rajah  Rustum  held  his  peace;  lowered  octroi  dues  a  half; 
Organised  a  State  Police;  purified  the  Civil  Staff; 
Settled  cess  and  tax  afresh  in  a  very  liberal  way; 
Cut  temptations  of  the  flesh — also  cut  the  Bukhshi's1  pay; 

Roused  his  Secretariat  to  a  fine  Mahratta  fury, 
By  an  Order  hinting  at  supervision  of  dasturi^ 
Turned  the  State  of  Kolazai  very  nearly  upside-down; 
When  the  end  of  May  was  nigh  waited  his  achievement's 
crown. 


Then  the  Birthday  Honours  came.     Sad  to  state  and  sad 

to  see, 
Stood    against    the    Rajah's    name    nothing    more    than 

C.I.EM   .   .    . 

Things  were  lively  for  a  week  in  the  State  of  Kolazai, 
Even  now  the  people  speak  of  that  time  regretfully. 


How  he  disendowed  the  Gaol — stopped  at  once  the  City 

drain; 

Turned  to  beauty  fair  and  frail — got  his  senses  back  again; 
Doubled   taxes,   cesses,   all;   cleared   away   each   new-built 

thana;* 
Turned  the  two-lakh  Hospital  into  a  superb  Zenana; 

Heaped  upon  the  Bukhshi  Sahib  wealth  and  honours  mani- 
fold; 

Clad  himself  in  Eastern  garb — squeezed  his  people  as  of  old. 

Happy,  happy  Kolazai!    Never  more  will  Rustum  Beg 

Play  to  catch  his  Viceroy's  eye.  He  prefers  the  "simpkin" 
Peg- 

'The  Commander  in  chief.        '  Bribes.        *  A  Companionship  of  the  order 
of  the  Indian  Empire.          4  Police  station. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  n 

THE  STORY  OF  URIAH 

'Now  there  were  two  men  in  one  city;  the  one  rich,  and  the  other  poor." 

JACK  BARRETT  went  to  Quetta 

Because  they  told  him  to. 
He  left  his  wife  at  Simla 

On  three-fourths  his  monthly  screw. 
Jack  Barrett  died  at  Quetta 

Ere  the  next  month's  pay  he  drew. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta. 

He  didn't  understand 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  pleasant  mountain-land. 
The  season  was  September, 

And  it  killed  him  out  of  hand. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta 

And  there  gave  up  the  ghost, 
Attempting  two  men's  duty 

In  that  very  healthy  post; 
And  Mrs.  Barrett  mourned  for  him 

Five  lively  months  at  most. 

Jack  Barrett's  bones  at  Quetta 

Enjoy  profound  repose; 
But  I  shouldn't  be  astonished 

If  now  his  spirit  knows 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  Himalayan  snows. 

And,  when  the  Last  Great  Bugle  Call 

Adown  the  Hurnai  throbs, 
And  the  last  grim  joke  is  entered 

In  the  big  black  Book  of  Jobs, 


12  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  Quetta  graveyards  give  again 
Their  victims  to  the  air, 

I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  man 
Who  sent  Jack  Barrett  there. 


THE  POST  THAT  FITTED 

Though  tangled  and  twisted  the  course  of  true  love 

This  ditty  explains, 
Xo  tangle's  so  tangled  it  cannot  improve 

If  the  Lover  has  brains. 


I?RE  the  steamer  bore  him  Eastward,  Sleary  was  engaged 

to  marry 
An  attractive  girl  at  Tunbridge,  whom  he  called  "my  little 

Carrie." 

Sleary 's  pay  was  very  modest;  Sleary  was  the  other  way. 
Who  can  cook  a  two-plate  dinner  on  eight  poor  rupees  a 

day? 

Long  he  pondered  o'er  the  question  in  his  scantly  furnished 

quarters — 
Then  proposed  to  Minnie  Boffkin,  eldest  of  Judge  Boffkin's 

daughters. 

Certainly  an  impecunious  Subaltern  was  not  a  catch, 
But  the  Boffkins  knew  that  Minnie  mightn't  make  another 

match. 

So  they  recognised  the  business  and,  to  feed  and  clothe  the 

bride, 
Got  him  made  a  Something  Something  somewhere  on  the 

Bombay  side. 

Anyhow,  the  billet  carried  pay  enough  for  him  to  marry — 
As  the  artless  Sleary  put  it: — "Just  the  thing  for  me  and 

Carrie." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  13 

Did  he,  therefore,  jilt  Miss  Boffkin — impulse  of  a  baser  mind? 
No!     He  started  epileptic  fits  of  an  appalling  kind. 
[Of  his  modus  operandi  only  this  much  I  could  gather: — 
"  Pears 's  shaving  sticks  will  give  you  little  taste  and  lots  of 
lather."] 

Frequently  in  public  places  his  affliction  used  to  smite 
Sleary  with  distressing  vigour — always  in  the  Boffkins'  sight. 
Ere  a  week  was  over  Minnie  weepingly  returned  his  ring, 
Told  him  his  "unhappy  weakness"  stopped  all  thought  of 
marrying. 

Sleary  bore  the  information  with  a  chastened  holy  joy, — 

Epileptic  fits  don't  matter  in  Political  employ, — 

Wired  three  short  words  to  Carrie — took  his  ticket,  packed 

his  kit — 
Bade  farewell  to  Minnie  Boffkin  in  one  last,  long,  lingering  fit. 

Four  weeks  later,  Carrie  Sleary  read — and  laughed  until  she 

wept — 

Mrs.  Boffkin's  warning  letter  on  the  "wretched  epilept."  .  .  . 
Year  by  year,  in  pious  patience,  vengeful  Mrs.  Boffkin  sits 
Waiting  for  the  Sleary  babies  to  develop  Sleary's  fits. 


A  CODE  OF  MORALS 

Lest  you  should  think  this  story  true 
I  merely  mention  I 
Evolved  it  lately.     Tis  a  most 
Unmitigated  misstatement. 

Jones  had  left  his  new-wed  bride  to  keep  his  house 

in  order, 

And  hied  away  to  the  Hurrum  Hills  above  the  Afghan  border, 
To  sit  on  a  rock  with  a  heliograph;  but  ere  he  left  he  taught 
His  wife  the  working  of  the  Code  that  sets  the  miles  at 

naught. 


U  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  Love  had  made  him  very  sage,  as  Nature  made  her  fair; 

So  Cupid  and  Apollo  linked,  per  heliograph,  the  pair. 

At  dawn,  across  the  Hurrum  Hills,  he  flashed  her  counsel 

wise — 
At  e'en,  the  dying  sunset  bore  her  husband's  homilies. 

He  warned  her  'gainst  seductive  youths  in  scarlet  clad  and 

gold, 

As  much  as  'gainst  the  blandishments  paternal  of  the  old; 
But  kept  his  gravest  warnings  for  (hereby  the  ditty  hangs) 
That  snowy-haired  Lothario,  Lieutenant-General  Bangs. 

'Twas  General  Bangs,  with  Aide  and  Staff,  who  tittupped  on 

the  way, 

When  they  beheld  a  heliograph  tempestuously  at  play. 
They  thought  of  Border  risings,  and  of  stations  sacked  and 

burnt — 
So  stopped  to  take  the  message  down — and  this  is  what  they 

learnt — 

"Dash  dot  dot  dot,  dot  dash,  dot  dash  dot"  twice.  The 
General  swore. 

"Was  ever  General  Officer  addressed  as  'dear'  before? 

"'My  Love,'  i'  faith!  'My  Duck,'  Gadzooks!  'My  darling 
popsy-wop ! ' 

"Spirit  of  great  Lord  Wolseley,  who  is  on  that  mountain- 
top?" 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute;  the  gilded  Staff  were 

still, 
As,  dumb  with  pent-up  mirth,  they  booked  that  message 

from  the  hill; 
For  clear  as  summer  lightning-flare,  the  husband's  warning 

ran: — 
"Don't  dance  or  ride  with  General  Bangs — a  most  immoral 

man." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  15 

[At  dawn,  across  the  Hurrum  Hills,  he  flashed  her  counsel 

wise — 

But,  howsoever  Love  be  blind,  the  world  at  large  hath  eyes.| 
With  damnatory  dot  and  dash  he  heliographed  his  wife 
Some  interesting  details  of  the  General's  private  life. 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute,  the  shining  Staff  were 

still, 

And  red  and  ever  redder  grew  the  General's  shaven  gill. 
And  this  is  what  he  said  at  last  (his  feelings  matter  not): — 
"I  think  we've  tapped  a  private  line.     Hi!    Threes  about 

there!     Trot!" 

All  honour  unto  Bangs,  for  ne'er  did  Jones  thereafter  know 
By  word  or  act  official  who  read  off  that  helio. 
But  the  tale  is  on  the  Frontier,  and  from  Michni  to  MoolAzw 
They  know  the  worthy  General  as  "  that  most  immoral 


PUBLIC  WASTE 

Walpole  talks  of  "  a  man  and  his  price. " 
List  to  a  ditty  queer — 

The  sale  of  a  Deputy-Acting-Vice- 
Resident-Engineer, 

Bought  like  a  bullock,  hoof  and  hide, 

By  the  Little  Tin  Gods  on  the  Mountain  Side. 

IgY  THE  Laws  of  the  Family  Circle  'tis  written  in  letters 
of  brass 

That  only  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  can  manage  the  Rail- 
ways of  State, 

Because  of  the  gold  on  his  breeks,  and  the  subjects  wherein 
he  must  pass; 

Because  in  all  matters  that  deal  not  with  Railways  his  know- 
ledge is  great. 


16  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Now  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  had  laboured  from  boyhood  to  eld 
On  the  Lines  of  the  East  and  the  West,  and  eke  of  the  North 

and  South; 
Many  Lines  had  he  built  and  surveyed — important  the  posts 

which  he  held; 
And  the  Lords  of  the  Iron  Horse  were  dumb  when  he  opened 

his  mouth. 

Black  as  the  raven  his  garb,  and  his  heresies  jettier  still — 

Hinting  that  Railways  required  lifetimes  of  study  and  know- 
ledge— 

Never  clanked  sword  by  his  side — Vauban  he  knew  not  nor 
drill— 

Nor  was  his  name  on  the  list  of  the  men  who  had  passed 
through  the  "College." 

Wherefore  the  Little  Tin  Gods  harried  their  little  tin  souls, 
Seeing  he  came  not  from  Chatham,  jingled  no  spurs  at  his 

heels, 
Knowing  that,  nevertheless,  was  he  first  on  the  Government 

rolls 
For  the  billet  of  "Railway  Instructor  to  Little  Tin  Gods  on 

Wheels." 

Letters  not  seldom  they  wrote  him,  "having  the  honour  to 

state," 

It  would  be  better  for  all  men  if  he  were  laid  on  the  shelf. 
Much  would  accrue  to  his  bank-book,  an  he  consented  to  wait 
Until  the  Little  Tin  Gods  built  him  a  berth  for  himself, 

"Special,  well  paid,  and  exempt  from  the  Law  of  the  Fifty 

and  Five, 
Even  to  Ninety  and  Nine" — these  were  the  terms  of  the 

pact: 
Thus  did  the  Little  Tin  Gods  (long  may  Their  Highnesses 

thrive!) 
Silence  his  mouth  with  rupees,  keeping  their  Circle  intact; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  17 

Appointing  a   Colonel   from   Chatham   who  managed   the 

Bhamo  State  Line 
(The  which  was  one  mile  and  one  furlong — a  guaranteed 

twenty-inch  gauge), 

So  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  consented  his  claims  to  resign, 
And  died,  on  four  thousand  a  month,  in  the  ninetieth  year 

of  his  age ! 


WHAT  HAPPENED 

fJURREE   CHUNDER   MOOKERJEE,  pride  of  Bow 

Bazaar, 

Owner  of  a  native  press,  "Barrishter-at-Lar," 
Waited  on  the  Government  with  a  claim  to  wear 
Sabres  by  the  bucketful,  rifles  by  the  pair. 

Then  the  Indian  Government  winked  a  wicked  wink, 
Said  to  Chunder  Mookerjee:  "Stick  to  pen  and  ink. 
They  are  safer  implements,  but,  if  you  insist, 
We  will  let  you  carry  arms  wheresoe'er  you  list." 

Hurree  Chunder  Mookerjee  sought  the  gunsmith  and 
Bought  the  tubes  of  Lancaster,  Ballard,  Dean,  and  Bland, 
Bought  a  shiny  bowie-knife,  bought  a  town-made  sword, 
Jingled  like  a  carriage-horse  when  he  went  abroad. 

But  the  Indian  Government,  always  keen  to  please, 
Also  gave  permission  to  horrid  men  like  these — 
Yar  Mahommed  Yusufzai,  down  to  kill  or  steal, 
Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer,  Tantia  the  Bhil; 

Killar  Khan  the  Marri  chief,  Jowar  Singh  the  Sikh, 
Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat,  Abdul  Huq  Rafiq— 
He  was  a  Wahabi;  last,  little  Boh  Hla-oo 
Took  advantage  of  the  Act — took  a  Snider  too. 


1 8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  were  unenlightened  men,  Ballard  knew  them  not. 
They  procured  their  swords  and  guns  chiefly  on  the  spot; 
And  the  lore  of  centuries,  plus  a  hundred  fights, 
Made  them  slow  to  disregard  one  another's  rights. 

With  a  unanimity  dear  to  patriot  hearts 

All  those  hairy  gentlemen  out  of  foreign  parts 

Said:  "The  good  old  days  are  back — let  us  go  to  war!" 

Swaggered  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road  into  Bow  Bazaar, 

Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat  found  a  hide-bound  flail; 
Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer  oiled  his  Tonk  jezail; 
Yar  Mahommed  Yusufzai  spat  and  grinned  with  glee 
As  he  ground  the  butcher-knife  of  the  Khyberee. 

Jowar  Singh  the  Sikh  procured  sabre,  quoit,  and  mace, 
Abdul  Huq,  Wahabi,  jerked  his  dagger  from  its  place, 
While  amid  the  jungle-grass  danced  and  grinned  and  jabbered 
Little  Boh  Hla-oo  and  cleared  his  dah-blade  from  the  scab- 
bard. 

What  became  of  Mookerjee  ?     Soothly,  who  can  say  ? 
Yar  Mahommed  only  grins  in  a  nasty  way, 
Jowar  Singh  is  reticent,  Chimbu  Singh  is  mute, 
But  the  belts  of  all  of  them  simply  bulge  with  loot. 

What  became  of  Ballard's  guns?    Afghans  black  and  grubby 
Sell  them  for  their  silver  weight  to  the  men  of  Pubbi; 
And  the  shiny  bowie-knife  and  the  town-made  sword  are 
Hanging  in  a  Marri  camp  just  across  the  Border. 

What  became  of  Mookerjee?     Ask  Mahommed  Yar 
Prodding  Siva's  sacred  bull  down  the  Bow  Bazaar. 
Speak  to  placid  Nubbee  Baksh — question  land  and  sea — 
Ask  the  Indian  Congressmen — only  don't  ask  me! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  19 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULD  WRITE 

Shun — shun  the  Bowl!     That  fatal,  facile  drink 
Has  ruined  many  geese  who  dipped  their  quills  in  't; 

Bribe,  murder,  marry,  but  steer  clear  of  Ink 
Save  when  you  write  receipts  for  paid-up  bills  in  't. 

There  may  be  silver  in  the  "blue-black" — all 

/  know  of  is  the  iron  and  the  gall. 

gOANERGES  BLITZEN,  servant  of  the  Queen, 

Is  a  dismal  failure — is  a  Might-have-been. 
In  a  luckless  moment  he  discovered  men 
Rise  to  high  position  through  a  ready  pen. 

Boanerges  Blitzen  argued  therefore — "  I, 
With  the  selfsame  weapon,  can  attain  as  high." 
Only  he  did  not  possess  when  he  made  the  trial, 
Wicked  wit  of  C-lv-n,  irony  of  L — 1. 

[Men  who  spar  with  Government  need,  to  back  their  blows, 
Something  more  than  ordinary  journalistic  prose.] 

Never  young  Civilian's  prospects  were  so  bright, 
Till  an  Indian  paper  found  that  he  could  write: 
Never  young  Civilian's  prospects  were  so  dark, 
When  the  wretched  Blitzen  wrote  to  make  his  mark. 

Certainly  he  scored  it,  bold,  and  black,  and  firm, 
In  that  Indian  paper — made  his  seniors  squirm, 
Quoted  office  scandals,  wrote  the  tactless  truth — • 
Was  there  ever  known  a  more  misguided  youth? 

When  the  Rag  he  wrote  for  praised  his  plucky  game, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  felt  that  this  was  Fame; 
When  the  men  he  wrote  of  shook  their  heads  and  swore, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  only  wrote  the  more: 


20  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Posed  as  Young  Ithuriel,  resolute  and  grim, 
Till  he  found  promotion  didn't  come  to  him; 
Till  he  found  that  reprimands  weekly  were  his  lot, 
And  his  many  Districts  curiously  hot. 

Till  he  found  his  furlough  strangely  hard  to  win, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  didn't  care  a  pin: 
Then  it  seemed  to  dawn  on  him  something  wasn't  right- 
Boanerges  Blitzen  put  it  down  to  "spite"; 

Languished  in  a  District  desolate  and  dry; 
Watched  the  Local  Government  yearly  pass  him  by; 
Wondered  where  the  hitch  was;  called  it  most  unfair. 


That  was  seven  years  ago — and  he  still  is  there! 


PINK  DOMINOES 

"They  are  fools  who  kiss  and  tell" — 

Wisely  has  the  poet  sung. 
Man  may  hold  all  sorts  of  posts 

If  he'll  only  hold  his  tongue. 

JENNY  and  Me  were  engaged,  you  see, 

On  the  eve  of  the  Fancy  Ball; 
So  a  kiss  or  two  was  nothing  to  you 
Or  any  one  else  at  all. 

Jenny  would  go  in  a  domino — 

Pretty  and  pink  but  warm; 
While  I  attended,  clad  in  a  splendid 

Austrian  uniform. 

Now  we  had  arranged,  through  notes  exchanged 

Early  that  afternoon, 
At  Number  Four  to  waltz  no  more, 

But  to  sit  in  the  dusk  and  spoon. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  21 

I  wish  you  to  see  that  Jenny  and  Me 

Had  barely  exchanged  our  troth; 
So  a  kiss  or  two  was  strictly  due 

By,  from,  and  between  us  both. 

When  Three  was  over,  an  eager  lover, 

I  fled  to  the  gloom  outside; 
And  a  Domino  came  out  also 

Whom  I  took  for  my  future  bride. 

That  is  to  say,  in  a  casual  way, 

I  slipped  my  arm  around  her; 
With  a  kiss  or  two  (which  is  nothing  to  you), 

And  ready  to  kiss  I  found  her. 


She  turned  her  head  and  the  name  she  said 

Was  certainly  not  my  own; 
But  ere  I  could  speak,  with  a  smothered  shriek 

She  fled  and  left  me  alone. 


Then  Jenny  came,  and  I  saw  with  shame 

She'd  doffed  her  domino; 
And  I  had  embraced  an  alien  waist — 

But  I  did  not  tell  her  so. 


Next  morn  I  knew  that  there  were  two 

Dominoes  pink,  and  one 
Had  cloaked  the  spouse  of  Sir  Julian  Vouse, 

Our  big  Political  gun. 

Sir  J.  was  old,  and  her  hair  was  gold, 
And  her  eye  was  a  blue  cerulean; 

And  the  name  she  said  when  she  turned  her  head 
Was  not  in  the  least  like  "Julian." 


22  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Now  wasn't  it  nice,  when  want  of  pice 

Forbade  us  twain  to  marry, 
That  old  Sir  J.,  in  the  kindest  way, 

Made  me  his  Secre/arry  ? 


MUNICIPAL 

"Why  is  my  District  death-rate  low?" 

Said  Binks  of  Hezabad. 
"Well,  drains,  and  sewage-outfalls  are 

"My  own  peculiar  fad. 
"I  learnt  a  lesson  once.     It  ran 
"Thus,"  quoth  that  most  veracious  man: — 

TT  WAS  an  August  evening  and,  in  snowy  garments  clad, 

I  paid  a  round  of  visits  in  the  lines  of  Hezabad; 
When,  presently,  my  Waler  saw,  and  did  not  like  at  all, 
A  Commissariat  elephant  careering  down  the  Mall. 

I  couldn't  see  the  driver,  and  across  my  mind  it  rushed 
That  that  Commissariat  elephant  had  suddenly  gone  musth.1 
I  didn't  care  to  meet  him,  and  I  couldn't  well  get  down, 
So  I  let  the  Waler  have  it,  and  we  headed  for  the  town. 

The  buggy  was  a  new  one  and,  praise  Dykes,  it  stood  the 

strain, 

Till  the  Waler  jumped  a  bullock  just  above  the  City  Drain; 
And  the  next  that  I  remember  was  a  hurricane  of  squeals, 
And  the  creature  making  toothpicks  of  my  five-foot  patent 

wheels. 

He  seemed  to  want  the  owner,  so  I  fled,  distraught  with  fear, 
To  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  while  he  snorted  in  my 

ear — 
Reached  the  four-foot  drain-head  safely  and,  in  darkness 

and  despair, 

Felt  the  brute's  proboscis  fingering  my  terror-stiffened  hair. 
•Mad. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  23 

Heard  it  trumpet  on  my  shoulder — tried  to  crawl  a  little 

higher — 
Found  the  Main  Drain  sewage  outfall  blocked,  some  eight 

feet  up,  with  mire; 

And,  for  twenty  reeking  minutes,  Sir,  my  very  marrow  froze, 
While  the  trunk  was  feeling  blindly  for  a  purchase  on  my 

toes! 

It  missed  me  by  a  fraction,  but  my  hair  was  turning  grey 
Before  they  called  the  drivers  up  and  dragged  the  brute  away. 
Then  I  sought  the  City  Elders,  and  my  words  were  very 

plain. 
They  flushed  that  four-foot  drain-head  and — it  never  choked 

again ! 

You  may  hold  with  surface-drainage,  and  the  sun-for-gar- 

bage  cure, 

Till  you've  been  a  periwinkle  shrinking  coyly  up  a  sewer. 
7  believe  in  well-flushed  culverts.     .     .     . 

This  is  why  the  death-rate's  small; 
And,  if  you  don't  believe  me,  get  shikarred1  yourself.     That's 

all. 


THE  LAST  DEPARTMENT 

Twelve  hundred  million  men  are  spread 
.    About  this  Earth,  and  I  and  You 
Wonder,  when  You  and  I  are  dead, 

"What  will  those  luckless  millions  do?" 

whole  or  clean,"  we  cry,  "or  free  from  stain 
Of  favour."     Wait  awhile,  till  we  attain 
The  Last  Department  where  nor  fraud  nor  fools, 
Nor  grade  nor  greed,  shall  trouble  us  again. 
'Hunted. 


24  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Fear,  Favour,  or  Affection — what  are  these 
To  the  grim  Head  who  claims  our  services? 

I  never  knew  a  wife  or  interest  yet 
Delay  that  pukka  step,  miscalled  "decease"; 

When  leave,  long  overdue,  none  can  deny; 
When  idleness  of  all  Eternity 

Becomes  our  furlough,  and  the  marigold 
Our  thriftless,  bullion-minting  Treasury 

Transferred  to  the  Eternal  Settlement, 
Each  in  his  strait,  wood-scantled  office  pent, 
No  longer  Brown  reverses  Smith's  appeals, 
Or  Jones  records  his  Minute  of  Dissent. 

And  One,  long  since  a  pillar  of  the  Court, 

As  mud  between  the  beams  thereof  is  wrought; 

And  One  who  wrote  on  phosphates  for  the  crops 
Is  subject-matter  of  his  own  Report. 


These  be  the  glorious  ends  whereto  we  pa 
Let  Him  who  Is,  go  call  on  Him  who  Was; 

And  He  shall  see  the  mallie1  steals  the  slab 
For  currie-grinder,  and  for  goats  the  grass. 

A  breath  of  wind,  a  Border  bullet's  flight, 
A  draught  of  water,  or  a  horse's  fright — . 

The  droning  of  the  fat  Sheristadar* 
Ceases,  the  punkah  stops,  and  falls  the  night 

For  you  or  Me.     Do  those  who  live  decline 
The  step  that  offers,  or  their  work  resign  ? 

Trust  me,  To-day's  Most  Indispensables, 
Five  hundred  men  can  take  your  place  or  mine. 
'The  cemetery  gardener.          'Clerk  of  the  court. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  25 

MY  RIVAL 

T  GO  to  concert,  party,  ball — 

What  profit  is  in  these? 
I  sit  alone  against  the  wall 

And  strive  to  look  at  ease. 
The  incense  that  is  mine  by  right 

They  burn  before  Her  shrine; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  she  is  forty-nine. 

I  cannot  check  my  girlish  blush, 

My  colour  comes  and  goes. 
I  redden  to  my  finger-tips, 

And  sometimes  to  my  nose. 
But  She  is  white  where  white  should  be, 

And  red  where  red  should  shine. 
The  blush  that  flies  at  seventeen 

Is  fixed  at  forty-nine. 


I  wish  /  had  her  constant  cheek: 

I  wish  that  I  could  sing 
All  sorts  of  funny  little  songs, 

Not  quite  the  proper  thing. 
I'm  very  gauche  and  very  shy, 

Her  jokes  aren't  in  my  line; 
And,  worst  of  all,  I'm  seventeen 

While  She  is  forty-nine. 


The  young  men  come,  the  young  men  go, 
Each  pink  and  white  and  neat, 

She's  older  than  their  mothers,  but 
They  grovel  at  Her  feet. 


26  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  walk  beside  Her  'rickshaw-wheels — 

None  ever  walk  by  mine; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty-nine. 

She  rides  with  half  a  dozen  men 

(She  calls  them  "boys"  and  "mashes"), 
I  trot  along  the  Mall  alone; 

My  prettiest  frocks  and  sashes 
Don't  help  to  fill  my  programme-card, 

And  vainly  I  repine 
From  ten  to  two  A.M.     Ah  me! 

Would  I  were  forty-nine. 

She  calls  me  "darling,"  "pet,"  and  "dear," 

And  "sweet  retiring  maid." 
I'm  always  at  the  back,  I  know — 

She  puts  me  in  the  shade. 
She  introduces  me  to  men — 

"Cast"  lovers,  I  opine; 
For  sixty  takes  to  seventeen, 

Nineteen  to  forty-nine. 

But  even  She  must  older  grow 

And  end  Her  dancing  days, 
She  can't  go  on  for  ever  so 

At  concerts,  balls,  and  plays. 
One  ray  of  priceless  hope  I  see 

Before  my  footsteps  shine; 
Just  think,  that  She'll  be  eighty-one 

When  I  am  forty-nine! 

TO  THE  UNKNOWN  GODDESS 

\\71LL  you  conquer  my  heart  with  your  beauty,  my  soul 

going  out  from  afar? 
Shall  I  fall  to  your  hand  as  a  victim  of  crafty  and  cautious 

shikar  ? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  27 

Have  I  met  you  and  passed  you  already,  unknowing,  unthink- 
ing, and  blind? 

Shall  I  meet  you  next  season  at  Simla,  O  sweetest  and  best 
of  your  kind? 

Does  the  P.  and  O.  bear  you  to  meward,  or,  clad  in  short 

frocks  in  the  West, 
Are  you  growing  the  charms  that  shall  capture  and  torture 

the  heart  in  my  breast? 

Will  you  stay  in  the  Plains  till  September — my  passion  as 

warm  as  the  day? 
Will  you  bring  me  to  book  on  the  Mountains,  or  where  the 

thermantidotes  play? 

When  the  light  of  your  eyes  shall  make  pallid  the  mean  lesser 

lights  I  pursue, 
And  the  charm  of  your  presence  shall  lure  me  from  love  of 

the  gay  "thirteen-two"1; 

When  the  "peg"2  and  the  pigskin  shall  please  not;  when  I 

buy  me  Calcutta-built  clothes; 
When  I  quit  the  Delight  of  Wild   Asses,    forswearing  the 

swearing  of  oaths; 

As  a  deer  to  the  hand  of  the  hunter  when  I  turn  'mid  the 

gibes  of  my  friends; 
When  the  days  of  my  freedom  are  numbered,  and  the  life  of 

the  bachelor  ends. 

Ah,  Goddess !  child,  spinster,  or  widow — as  of  old  on  Mars 

Hill  when  they  raised 
To  the  God  that  they  knew  not  an  altar — so  I,  a  young 

Pagan,  have  praised 

The  Goddess  I  know  not  nor  worship;  yet,  if  half  that  men 

tell  me  be  true, 
You  will  come  in  the  future,  and  therefore  these  verses  are 

written  to  you. 

1  Polo-pony.  f  Whisky  and  soda. 


28  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


THE  RUPAIYAT  OF  OMAR  KAL'VIN 

[Allowing  for  the  difference  'twixt  prose  and  rhymed  exaggeration,  this 

ought  to  reproduce  the  sense  of  what  Sir  A told  the  nation  some  time 

ago,  when  the  Government  struck  from  our  incomes  two  per  cent.] 

the  New  Year,  reviving  last  Year's  Debt, 
The  Thoughtful  Fisher  casteth  wide  his  Net; 
So  I  with  begging  Dish  and  ready  Tongue 
Assail  all  Men  for  all  that  I  can  get. 

Imports  indeed  are  gone  with  all  their  Dues — 
Lo!     Salt  a  Lever  that  I  dare  not  use, 

Nor  may  I  ask  the  Tillers  in  Bengal — 
Surely  my  Kith  and  Kin  will  not  refuse 

Pay — and  I  promise  by  the  Dust  of  Spring, 
Retrenchment.     If  my  promises  can  bring 

Comfort,  Ye  have  Them  now  a  thousand-fold — 
By  Allah!     I  will  promise  Anything! 

Indeed,  indeed,  Retrenchment  oft  before 
I  swore — but  did  I  mean  it  when  I  swore? 

And  then,  and  then,  We  wandered  to  the  Hills, 
And  so  the  Little  Less  became  Much  More. 

Whether  at  Boileaugunge  or  Babylon, 

I  know  not  how  the  wretched  Thing  is  done, 

The  Items  of  Receipt  grow  surely  small; 
The  Items  of  Expense  mount  one  by  one. 

I  cannot  help  it.     \Vhat  have  I  to  do 

W7ith  One  and  Five,  or  Four,  or  Three,  or  Two? 

Let  Scribes  spit  Blood  and  Sulphur  as  they  please, 
Or  Statesmen  call  me  foolish — Heed  not  you. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  29 

Behold,  I  promise — Anything  You  will. 
Behold,  I  greet  you  with  an  empty  Till — 

Ah!  Fellow-Sinners,  of  your  Charity 
Seek  not  the  Reason  of  the  Dearth  but  fill. 

For  if  I  sinned  and  fell,  where  lies  the  Gain 

Of  Knowledge?     Would  it  ease  you  of  your  Pain 

To  know  the  tangled  Threads  of  Revenue, 
I  ravel  deeper  in  a  hopeless  Skein? 

"Who  hath  not  Prudence" — what  was  it  I  said, 
Of  Her  who  paints  Her  Eyes  and  tires  Her  Head, 

And  jibes  and  mocks  the  People  in  the  Street, 
And  fawns  upon  them  for  Her  thriftless  Bread? 

Accursed  is  She  of  Eve's  daughters — She 
Hath  cast  off  Prudence,  and  Her  End  shall  be 

Destruction.     .     .     .  Brethren,  of  your  Bounty  grant 
Some  portion  of  your  daily  Bread  to  Me! 


PAGETT,  M.P. 


The  toad  beneath  the  harrow  knows 
Exactly  where  each  tooth-point  goes; 
The  butterfly  upon  the  road 
Preaches  contentment  to  that  toad. 


DAGETT,  M.P.,  was  a  liar,  and  a  fluent  liar  therewith,— 
He  spoke  of  the  heat  of  India  as  "The  Asian  Solar 
Myth"; 

Came  on  a  four  months'  visit,  to  "study  the  East"  in  No- 
vember, 

And  I  got  him  to  make  an  agreement  vowing  to  stay  till 
September. 


30  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

March  came  in  with  the  koil.     Pagett  was  cool  and  gay, 
Called  me  a  "bloated  Brahmin,"  talked  of  my  "princely 

pay." 
March  went  out  with  the  roses.     "Where  is  your  heat?" 

said  he. 
"Coming,"  said  I  to  Pagett.     "  Skittles!"  said  Pagett,  M.P. 

April  began  with  the  punkah,  coolies,  and  prickly-heat, — 
Pagett  was  dear  to  mosquitoes,  sandflies  found  him  a  treat. 
He  grew  speckled  and  lumpy — hammered,  I  grieve  to  say, 
Aryan  brothers  who  fanned  him,  in  an  illiberal  way. 

May  set  in  with  a  dust-storm, — Pagett  went  down  with  the 

sun. 

All  the  delights  of  the  season  tickled  him  one  by  one. 
Imprimis — ten  days'  "liver" — due  to  his  drinking  beer; 
Later,  a  dose  of  fever — slight,  but  he  called  it  severe. 

Dysent'ry  touched  him  in  June,  after  the  Chota  Bur  sat1 — 
Lowered  his  portly  person — made  him  yearn  to  depart. 
He  didn't  call  me  a  "  Brahmin,"  or  "  bloated,"  or  "  overpaid," 
But  seemed  to  think  it  a  wonder  that  any  one  ever  stayed. 

July  was  a  trifle  unhealthy, — Pagett  was  ill  with  fear, 
Called  it  the  "Cholera  Morbus,"  hinted  that  life  was  dear. 
He  babbled  of  "Eastern  exile,"  and  mentioned  his  home  with 

tears; 
But  I  hadn't  seen  my  children  for  close  upon  seven  years. 

We  reached  a  hundred  and  twenty  once  in  the  Court  at  noon, 
[I've  mentioned  Pagett  was  portly]  Pagett  went  off  in  a 

swoon. 

That  was  an  end  to  the  business.     Pagett,  the  perjured,  fled 
With  a  practical,  working  knowledge  of  "Solar  Myths"  in 

his  head. 

1  The  early  rains. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  31 

And  I  laughed  as  I  drove  from  the  station,  but  the  mirth  died 

out  on  my  lips 
As  I  thought  of  the  fools  like  Pagett  who  write  of  their 

"Eastern  trips," 
And  the  sneers  of  the  travelled  idiots  who  duly  misgovern 

the  land, 
And  I  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  deliver  another  one  into  my  hand- 


LA  NUIT  BLANCHE 

A  much-discerning  Public  hold 
The  Singer  generally  sings 


Of  personal  and  private  things, 
nd  prints  and  sells  his 


And  prints  and  sells  his  past  for  gold. 


Whatever  I  may  here  disclaim, 
The  very  clever  folk  I  sing  to 
Will  most  indubitably  cling  to 

Their  pet  delusion,  just  the  same. 

T  HAD  seen,  as  dawn  was  breaking 

And  I  staggered  to  my  rest, 
Tara  Devi  softly  shaking 

From  the  Cart  Road  to  the  crest. 
I  had  seen  the  spurs  of  Jakko 

Heave  and  quiver,  swell  and  sink. 
Was  it  Earthquake  or  tobacco, 

Day  of  Doom  or  Night  of  Drink? 

In  the  full,  fresh,  fragrant  morning 

I  observed  a  camel  crawl, 
Laws  of  gravitation  scorning, 

On  the  ceiling  and  the  wall. 
Then  I  watched  a  fender  walking, 

And  I  heard  grey  leeches  sing, 
And  a  red-hot  monkey  talking 

Did  not  seem  the  proper  thing. 


32  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  a  Creature,  skinned  and  crimson, 

Ran  about  the  floor  and  cried, 
And  they  said  I  had  the  "Jims"  on, 

And  they  dosed  me  with  bromide, 
And  they  locked  me  in  my  bedroom — 

Me  and  one  wee  Blood  Red  Mouse — 
Though  I  said: — "To  give  my  head  room 

"You  had  best  unroof  the  house." 


But  my  words  were  all  unheeded, 

Though  I  told  the  grave  M.D. 
That  the  treatment  really  needed 

Was  a  dip  in  open  sea 
That  was  lapping  just  below  me, 

Smooth  as  silver,  white  as  snow — 
And  it  took  three  men  to  throw  me 

When  I  found  I  could  not  go. 

Half  the  night  I  watched  the  Heavens 

Fizz  like  '81  champagne — 
Fly  to  sixes  and  to  sevens, 

Wheel  and  thunder  back  again; 
And  when  all  was  peace  and  order 

Save  one  planet  nailed  askew, 
Much  I  wept  because  my  warder 

Would  not  let  me  set  it  true. 


After  frenzied  hours  of  waiting, 

When  the  Earth  and  Skies  were  dumb, 
Pealed  an  awful  voice  dictating 

An  interminable  sum, 
Changing  to  a  tangled  story — 

"What  she  said  you  said  I  said — " 
Till  the  Moon  arose  in  glory, 

And  I  found  her     ...     in  my  head; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  33 

Then  a  Face  came,  blind  and  weeping, 

And  It  couldn't  wipe  Its  eyes, 
And  It  muttered  I  was  keeping 

Back  the  moonlight  from  the  skies; 
So  I  patted  It  for  pity, 

But  It  whistled  shrill  with  wrath, 
And  a  huge,  black  Devil  City 

Poured  its  peoples  on  my  path. 


So  I  fled  with  steps  uncertain 

On  a  thousand-year  long  race, 
But  the  bellying  of  the  curtain 

Kept  me  always  in  one  place, 
While  the  tumult  rose  and  maddened 

To  the  roar  of  Earth  on  fire, 
Ere  it  ebbed  and  sank  and  saddened 

To  a  whisper  tense  as  wire. 

In  intolerable  stillness 

Rose  one  little,  little  star, 
And  it  chuckled  at  my  illness, 

And  it  mocked  me  from  afar; 
And  its  brethren  came  and  eyed  me, 

Called  the  Universe  to  aid, 
Till  I  lay,  with  naught  to  hide  me, 

'Neath  the  Scorn,  of  All  Things  Made. 


Dun  and  saffron,  robed  and  splendid 

Broke  the  solemn,  pitying  Day, 
And  I  knew  my  pains  were  ended, 

And  I  turned  and  tried  to  pray; 
But  my  speech  was  shattered  wholly, 

And  I  wept  as  children  weep, 
Till  the  dawn-wind,  softly,  slowly, 

Brought  to  burning  eyelids  sleep. 


34  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  LOVERS'  LITANY 

1?  YES  of  grey — a  sodden  quay, 

Driving  rain  and  falling  tears, 
As  the  steamer  puts  to  sea 
In  a  parting  storm  of  cheers. 

Sing,  for  Faith  and  Hope  are  high — 
None  so  true  as  you  and  I — 
Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany: — 
"Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /" 

Eyes  of  black — a  throbbing  keel, 
Milky  foam  to  left  and  right; 
Whispered  converse  near  the  wheel 
In  the  brilliant  tropic  night. 

Cross  that  rules  the  Southern  Sky  ! 
Stars  that  sweep,  and  turn,  and  fly 
Hear  the  Lovers'  Litany: — 
"Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /" 

Eyes  of  brown — a  dusty  plain 
Split  and  parched  with  heat  of  June. 
Flying  hoof  and  tightened  rein, 
Hearts  that  beat  the  ancient  tune. 
Side  by  side  the  horses  fly, 
Frame  we  now  the  old  reply 
Of  the  Lovers'  Litany: — 
"Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !" 

Eyes  of  blue— the  Simla  Hills 
Silvered  with  the  moonlight  hoar; 
Pleading  of  the  waltz  that  thrills, 
Dies  and  echoes  round  Benmore. 
"Mabel"  "Officers"  "Good-bye" 
Glamour,  wine,  and  witchery — 
On  my  soul's  sincerity, 
"Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  35 

Maidens,  of  your  charity, 

Pity  my  most  luckless  state. 

Four  times  Cupid's  debtor  I — 

Bankrupt. in  quadruplicate. 
Yet,  despite  my  evil  case, 
An  a  maiden  showed  me  grace, 
Four-and-forty  times  would  I 
Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany: — 
" Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /" 


A  BALLAD  OF  BURIAL 

'Saint  Praxed's  ever  was  the  Church Jor  peace.' 

JF  DOWN  here  I  chance  to  die, 

Solemnly  I  beg  you  take 
All  that  is  left  of  "I" 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 
Pack  me  very  thoroughly 

In  the  ice  that  used  to  slake 
Pegs  I  drank  when  I  was  dry — 

This  observe  for  old  sake's  sake. 


To  the  railway  station  hie, 

There  a  single  ticket  take    • 
For  Umballa — goods-train — I 

Shall  not  mind  delay  or  shake. 
I  shall  rest  contentedly 

Spite  of  clamour  coolies  make; 
Thus  in  state  and  dignity 

Send  me  up  for  old  sake's  sake. 


36  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Next  the  sleepy  Babu  wake, 

Book  a  Kalka  van  "  for  four. " 
Few,  I  think,  will  care  to  make 

Journeys  with  me  any  more 
As  they  used  to  do  of  yore. 

I  shall  need  a  "special  brake" — 
'Thing  I  never  took  before — 

Get  me  one  for  old  sake's  sake. 


After  that — arrangements  make. 

No  hotel  will  take  me  in, 
And  a  bullock's  back  would  break 

'Neath  the  teak  and  leaden  skin. 
Tonga-ropes  are  frail  and  thin, 

Or,  did  I  a  back-seat  take, 
In  a  tonga  I  might  spin, — 

Do  your  best  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that — your  work  is  done. 

Recollect  a  Padre  must 
Mourn  the  dear  departed  one — 

Throw  the  ashes  and  the  dust. 
Don't  go  down  at  once.     I  trust 

You  will  find  excuse  to  "snake 
Three  days'   casual  on  the  bust1,' 

Get  your  fun  for  old  sake's  sake. 

I  could  never  stand  the  Plains. 

Think  of  blazing  June  and  May, 
Think  of  those  September  rains 

Yearly  till  the  Judgment  Day! 
I  should  never  rest  in  peace, 

I  should  sweat  and  lie  awake. 
Rail  me  then,  on  my  decease, 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake! 
'Three  days'  leave. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  37 

THE  OVERLAND  MAIL 

(Foot-service  to  the  Hills.) 

TN  THE  name  of  the  Empress  of  India,  make  way, 
O  Lords  of  the  Jungle,  wherever  you  roam, 

The  woods  are  astir  at  the  close  of  the  day — 
We  exiles  are  waiting  for  letters  from  Home. 

Let  the  robber  retreat — let  the  tiger  turn  tail — 

In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland  Mail! 


With  a  jingle  of  bells  as  the  dusk  gathers  in, 

He  turns  to  the  footpath  that  heads  up  the  hill — 

The  bags  on  his  back  and  a  cloth  round  his  chin, 
And,  tucked  in  his  waistbelt,  the  Post  Office  bill; — 

"Despatched  on  this  date,  as  received  by  the  rail, 

"Per  runner,  two  bags  of  the  Overland  Mail." 


Is  the  torrent  in  spate?     He  must  ford  it  or  swim. 

Has  the  rain  wrecked  the  road  ?   He  must  climb  by  the  cliff. 
Does  the  tempest  cry  halt  ?     What  are  tempests  to  him  ? 

The  service  admits  not  a  "but"  or  an  "if." 
While  the  breath's  in  his  mouth,  he  must  bear  without  fail, 
In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland  Mail. 


From  aloe  to  rose-oak,  from  rose-oak  to  fir, 
From  level  to  upland,  from  upland  to  crest, 

From  rice-field  to  rock-ridge,  from  rock-ridge  to  spur, 

Fly  the  soft-sandalled  feet,  strains  the  brawny,  brown 
chest. 

From  rail  to  ravine — to  the  peak  from  the  vale — 

Up,  up  through  the  night  goes  the  Overland  Mail. 


38  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

There's  a  speck  on  the  hillside,  a  dot  on  the  road — 
A  jingle  of  bells  on  the  footpath  below — 

There's  a  scuffle  above  in  the  monkey's  abode — 
The  world  is  awake  and  the  clouds  are  aglow. 

For  the  great  Sun  himself  must  attend  to  the  hail: — 

"In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland  Mail!" 


DIVIDED  DESTINIES 

TT  WAS  an  artless  Bandar1  and  he  danced  upon  a  pine, 
And  much  I  wondered  how  he  lived,  and  where  the  beast 

might  dine, 

And  many  many  other  things,  till,  o'er  my  morning  smoke, 
I  slept  the  sleep  of  idleness  and  dreamt  that  Bandar  spoke. 

He  said : — "  O  man  of  many  clothes !  Sad  crawler  on  the  Hills ! 
"Observe,  I  know  not  Ranken's  shop,  nor  Ranken's  monthly 

bills! 

"I  take  no  heed  to  trousers  or  the  coats  that  you  call  dress; 
"Nor  am  I  plagued  with  little  cards  for  little  drinks  at  Mess. 

"I  steal  the  bunnia's  grain  at  morn,  at  noon  and  eventide 
"  (For  he  is  fat  and  I  am  spare),  I  roam  the  mountain-side, 
"I  follow  no  man's  carriage,  and  no,  never  in  my  life 
"Have  I  flirted  at  Peliti's  with  another  Bandar 's  wife. 

"O  man  of  futile  fopperies — unnecessary  wraps; 
"I  own  no  ponies  in  the  hills,  I  drive  no  tallwheeled  traps 
"I  buy  me  not  twelve-button  gloves,  'short-sixes' eke, or  rings, 
"Nor  do  I  waste  at  Hamilton's  my  wealth  on  'pretty  things.' 

"I  quarrel  with  my  wife  at  home,  we  never  fight  abroad; 
"  But  Mrs.  B.  has  grasped  the  fact  I  am  her  only  lord. 
"I  never  heard  of  fever — dumps  nor  debts  depress  my  soul; 
"And  I  pity  and  despise  you!"     Here  he  pouched  my  break- 
fast-roll. 

'Monkev. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  39 

His  hide  was  very  mangey  and  his  face  was  very  red, 
And  ever  and  anon  he  scratched  with  energy  his  head. 
His  manners  were  not  always  nice,  but  how  my  spirit  cried 
To  be  an  artless  Bandar  loose  upon  the  mountain-side! 

So  I  answered: — "Gentle  Bandar,  an  inscrutable  Decree, 
"Makes  thee  a  gleesome  fleasome  Thou,  and  me  a  wretched 

Me. 
"Go!     Depart  in  peace,  my  brother,  to  thy  home  amid  the 

pine; 
"Yet  forget  not  once  a  mortal  wished  to  change  his  lot  with 

thine." 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY 

ARGUMENT. — The  Indian  Government  being  minded  to  discover  the 
economic  condition  of  their  lands,  sent  a  Committee  to  inquire  into  it;  and 
saw  that  it  was  good. 

SCENE. — The  wooded  heights  of  Simla.  The  Incarnation  of 
the  Government  of  India  in  the  raiment  of  the  Angel  of  Plenty 
sings,  to  pianoforte  accompaniment: — 

"UOW  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet  life! 

From  the  dawn  to  the  even  he  strays — 
He  shall  follow  his  sheep  all  the  day 

And  his  tongue  shall  be  filled  with  praise. 
(adagio  dim.}  Filled  with  praise!" 

(largendo  con  sp.)  Now  this  is  the  position, 
Go  make  an  inquisition 
Into  their  real  condition 
As  swiftly  as  ye  may. 


40  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

(/>)   Ay,  paint  our  swarthy  billions 
The  richest  of  vermillions 
Ere  two  well-led  cotillions 

Have  danced  themselves  away. 

TURKISH  PATROL,  as  able  and  intelligent  Investigators  wind 
down  the  Himalayas: — 

What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation?     What  is  its  occupation? 
Hi!  get  along,  get  along,  get  along — lend  us  the  information! 

(dim.}  Census  the  byle1  and  the  yabu — capture  a  first-class 

Babu, 
Set  him  to  file  Gazetteers — Gazetteers     .     .     . 

(jf)  What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation,  etc.,  etc. 

INTERLUDE,  from  Nowhere  in  Particular,  to  stringed  and 
Oriental  instruments. 

Our  cattle  reel  beneath  the  yoke  they  bear — 

The  earth  is  iron  and  the  skies  are  brass — 
And  faint  with  fervour  of  the  flaming  air 

The  languid  hours  pass. 

The  well  is  dry  beneath  the  village  tree — 
The  young  wheat  withers  ere  it  reach  a  span, 

And  belts  of  blinding  sand  show  cruelly 
Where  once  the  river  ran. 

Pray,  brothers,  pray,  but  to  no  earthly  King — 
Lift  up  your  hands  above  the  blighted  grain, 

Look  westward — if  they  please,  the  Gods  shall  bring 
Their  mercy  with  the  rain. 

Look  westward — bears  the  blue  no  brown  cloud-bank? 

Nay,  it  is  written — wherefore  should  we  fly? 
On  our  own  field  and  by  our  cattle's  flank 

Lie  down,  lie  down  to  die! 

1  The  ox  and  the  pony. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  41 

SEMI-CHORUS 

By  the  plumed  heads  of  Kings 

Waving  high, 
Where  the  tall  corn  springs 

O'er  the  dead. 
If  they  rust  or  rot  we  die, 
If  they  ripen  we  are  fed. 
Very  mighty  is  the  power  of  our  Kings! 

Triumphal  return  to  Simla  of  the  Investigators,  attired  after 
the  manner  of  Dionysus,  leading  a  pet  tiger-cub  in  wret'ths 
of  rhubarb-leaves,  symbolical  of  India  under  medical  treat- 
ment. They  sing: — 

We  have  seen,  we  have  written — behold  it,  the  proof  of  our 

manifold  toil! 
In  their  hosts  they  assembled  and  told  it — the  tale  of  the 

Sons  of  the  Soil. 
We  have  said  of  the  Sickness — "Where  is  it?" — and  of  Death 

— "It  is  far  from  our  ken," — 

We  have  paid  a  particular  visit  to  the  affluent  children  of  men. 
We  have  trodden   the  mart  and   the  well-curb — we  have 

stooped  to  the  bield  and  the  byre; 
And  the  King  may  the  forces  of  Hell  curb  for  the  People 

have  all  they  desire! 

Castanets  and  step-dance: — 

Oh,  the  dom1  and  the  mag  and  the  thakur  and  the  thag, 

And  the  nat  and  the  brinjaree, 

And  the  bunnia  and  the  ryot  are  as  happy  and  as  quiet 
And  as  plump  as  they  can  be! 
Yes,  the  jain  and  thejat  in  his  stucco- fronted  hut, 

And  the  bounding  bazugar, 
By  the  favour  of  the  King,  are  as  fat  as  anything, 

They  are — they  are — they  are! 

1 A  list  of  various  Indian  tribes  and  castes. 


42  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

RECITATIVE,  Government  of  India,  with  white  satin  wings 
and  electro-plated  harp: — 

How  beautiful  upon  the  Mountains — in  peace  reclining, 

Thus  to  be  assured  that  our  people  are  unanimously  dining. 

And  though  there  are  places  not  so  blessed  as  others  in  nat- 
ural advantages,  which,  after  all,  was  only  to  be  ex- 
pected, 

Proud  and  glad  are  we  to  congratulate  you  upon  the  work 
you  have  thus  ably  effected. 

(Cres.)  How  be-ewtiful  upon  the  Mountains! 


HIRED  BAND,  brasses  only,  full  chorus: — 

God  bless  the  Squire 

And  all  his  rich  relations 

Who  teach  us  poor  people 

We  eat  our  proper  rations — 
We  eat  our  proper  rations, 
In  spite  of  inundations, 
Malarial  exhalations, 
And  casual  starvations, 

We  have,  we  have,  they  say  we  have 

We  have  our  proper  rations! 


CHORUS  OF  THE  CRYSTALLISED  FACTS 

Before  the  beginning  of  years 
There  came  to  the  rule  of  the  State 
Men  with  a  pair  of  shears, 
Men  with  an  Estimate — 
Strachey  with  Muir  for  leaven, 
Lytton  with  locks  that  fell, 
Ripon  fooling  with  Heaven, 
And  Temple  riding  like  H — 11! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  43 

And  the  bigots  took  in  hand 

Cess  and  the  falling  of  rain, 

And  the  measure  of  sifted  sand 

The  dealer  puts  in  the  grain — 

Imports  by  land  and  sea, 

To  uttermost  decimal  worth, 

And  registration — free — 

In  the  houses  of  death  and  of  birth. 

And  fashioned  with  pens  and  paper, 

And  fashioned  in  black  and  white, 

With  Life  for  a  flickering  taper 

And  Death  for  a  blazing  light — 

With  the  Armed  and  the  Civil  Power, 

That  his  strength  might  endure  for  a  span — 

From  Adam's  Bridge  to  Peshawur, 

The  Much  Administered  Man. 

In  the  towns  of  the  North  and  the  East, 

They  gathered  as  unto  rule, 

They  bade  him  starve  his  priest 

And  send  his  children  to  school. 

Railways  and  roads  they  wrought, 

For  the  needs  of  the  soil  within; 

A  time  to  squabble  in  court, 

A  time  to  bear  and  to  grin. 

And  gave  him  peace  in  his  ways, 

Jails — and  Police  to  fight, 

Justice — at  length  of  days, 

And  Right — and  Might  in  the  Right. 

His  speech  is  of  mortgaged  bedding, 

On  his  kine  he  borrows  yet, 

At  his  heart  is  his  daughter's  wedding, 

In  his  eye  foreknowledge  of  debt. 

He  eats  and  hath  indigestion, 

He  toils  and  he  may  not  stop; 

His  life  is  a  long-drawn  question 

Between  a  crop  and  a  crop. 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


THE  MARE'S  NEST 

JANE  AUSTEN  BEECHER  STOWE  DE  ROUSE 

Was  good  beyond  all  earthly  need; 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  her  spouse 

Was  very,  very  bad  indeed. 
He  smoked  cigars,  called  churches  slow, 
And  raced — but  this  she  did  not  know. 

For  Belial  Machiavelli  kept 

The  little  fact  a  secret,  and, 
Though  o'er  his  minor  sins  she  wept, 

Jane  Austen  did  not  understand 
That  Lilly — thirteen-two  and  bay — 
Absorbed  one-half  her  husband's  pay. 

She  was  so  good  she  made  him  worse 

(Some  women  are  like  this,  I  think); 
He  taught  her  parrot  how  to  curse, 

Her  Assam  monkey  how  to  drink. 
He  vexed  her  righteous  soul  until 
She  went  up,  and  he  went  down  hill. 

Then  came  the  crisis,  strange  to  say, 

Which  turned  a  good  wife  to  a  better. 
A  telegraphic  peon,  one  day, 

Brought  her — now,  had  it  been  a  letter 
For  Belial  Machiavelli,  I 
Know  Jane  would  just  have  let  it  lie — 

But  'twas  a  telegram  instead, 

Marked  "urgent,"  and  her  duty  plain 
To  open  it.     Jane  Austen  read: — 

"Your  Lilly's  got  a  cough  again. 
"'Can't  understand  why  she  is  kept 
"At  your  expense."     Jane  Austen  wept. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  45 

It  was  a  misdirected  wire, 

Her  husband  was  at  Shaitanpore. 
She  spread  her  anger,  hot  as  fire, 

Through  six  thin  foreign  sheets  or  more, 
Sent  off  that  letter,  wrote  another 
To  her  solicitor — and  mother. 

Then  Belial  Machiavelli  saw 

Her  error  and,  I  trust,  his  own, 
Wired  to  the  minion  of  the  Law, 

And  travelled  wifeward— not  alone. 
For  Lilly — thirteen-two  and  bay — 
Came  in  a  horse-box  all  the  way. 

There  was  a  scene — a  weep  or  two — 

With  many  kisses.     Austen  Jane 
Rode  Lilly  all  the  season  through, 

And  never  opened  wires  again. 
She  races  now  with  Belial     .     .       .     This 
Is  very  sad,  but  so  it  is. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  FISHER'S  BOARDING-HOUSE 

That  night,  when  through  the  mooring-chains 

The  wide-eyed  corpse  rolled  free, 
To  blunder  down  by  Garden  Reach 

And  rot  at  Kedgeree, 
The  tale  the  Hughli  told  the  shoal 

The  lean  shoal  told  to  me. 


Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house, 
Where  sailor-men  reside, 
And  there  were  men  of  all  the  ports 

From  Mississip  to  Clyde, 
And  regally  they  spat  and  smoked, 
And  fearsomely  they  lied. 


46  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  lied  about  the  purple  Sea 
That  gave  them  scanty  bread, 

They  lied  about  the  Earth  beneath, 
The  Heavens  overhead, 

For  they  had  looked  too  often  on 
Black  rum  when  that  was  red. 


They  told  their  tales  of  wreck  and  wrong, 

Of  shame  and  lust  and  fraud, 
They  backed  their  toughest  statements  with 

The  Brimstone  of  the  Lord, 
And  crackling  oaths  went  to  and  fro 

Across  the  fist-banged  board. 

And  there  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
Who  carried  on  his  hairy  chest 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 

And  there  was  Jake  Without-the-Ears, 

And  Pamba  the  Malay, 
And  Carboy  Gin  the  Guinea  cook, 

And  Luz  from  Vigo  Bay, 
And  Honest  Jack  who  sold  them  slops 

And  harvested  their  pay. 


And  there  was  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  lean  Bostonian  he — 
Russ,  German,  English,  Halfbreed,  Finn, 

Yank,  Dane,  and  Portuguee, 
At  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

They  rested  from  the  sea. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  47 

Now  Anne  of  Austria  shared  their  drinks, 

Collinga  knew  her  fame, 
From  Tarnau  in  Galicia 

To  Jaun  Bazaar  she  came, 
To  eat  the  bread  of  infamy 

And  take  the  wage  of  shame. 


She  held  a  dozen  men  to  heel — 

Rich  spoil  of  war  was  hers, 
In  hose  and  gown  and  ring  and  chain, 

From  twenty  mariners, 
And,  by  Port  Law,  that  WCCK,  men  called 

Her  Salem  Hardieker's. 


But  seamen  learnt — what  landsmen  know- 
That  neither  gifts  nor  gain 

Can  hold  a  winking  Light  o'  Love 
Or  Fancy's  flight  restrain, 

When  Anne  of  Austria  rolled  her  eyes 
On  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane. 

Since  Life  is  strife,  and  strife  means  knife, 

From  Howrah  to  the  Bay, 
And  he  may  die  before  the  dawn 

Who  liquored  out  the  day, 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

We  woo  while  yet  we  may. 


But  cold  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
And  laughter  shook  the  chest  beneath 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 


48  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker; 

"You  was  his  girl,  I  know. 
"I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  see, 

"Und  round  the  Skaw  we  go, 
"South,  down  the  Cattegat,  by  Hjelm, 

"To  Besser  in  Saro." 


When  love  rejected  turns  to  hate, 

All  ill  betide  the  man. 
"You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker" — 

She  spoke  as  woman  can. 
A  scream — a   sob — "He   called   me — names  I1 

And  then  the  fray  began. 

An  oath  from  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  shriek  upon  the  stairs, 
A  dance  of  shadows  on  the  wall, 

A  knife-thrust  unawares — 
And  Hans  came  down,  as  cattle  drop, 

Across  the  broken  chairs. 


In  Anne  of  Austria's  trembling  hands 

The  weary  head  fell  low: — 
"I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  straight 

"For  Besser  in  Saro; 
"Und  there  Ultruda  comes  to  me 

"At  Easter,  und  I  go 

"South,  down  the  Cattegat — What's  here? 

"There — are — no — lights — to — guide ! " 
The  mutter  ceased,  the  spirit  passed, 

And  Anne  of  Austria  cried 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

When  Hans  the  mighty  died. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  49 

Thus  slew  they  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
But  Anne  of  Austria  looted  first 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 


POSSIBILITIES 

AY,  LAY  him  'neath  the  Simla  pine — 

A  fortnight  fully  to  be  missed, 
Behold,  we  lose  our  fourth  at  whist, 
A  chair  is  vacant  where  we  dine. 

His  place  forgets  him;  other  men 

Have  bought  his  ponies,  guns,  and  traps. 
His  fortune  is  the  Great  Perhaps 

And  that  cool  rest-house  down  the  glen, 

Whence  he  shall  hear,  as  spirits  may, 
Our  mundane  revel  on  the  height, 
Shall  watch  each  flashing  'rickshaw-\\ght 

Sweep  on  to  dinner,  dance,  and  play. 

Benmore  shall  woo  him  to  the  ball 
With  lighted  rooms  and  braying  band; 
And  he  shall  hear  and  understand 

"Dream  Faces"  better  than  us  all. 


For,  think  you,  as  the  vapours  flee 
Across  Sanjaolie  after  rain, 
His  soul  may  climb  the  hill  again 

To  each  old  field  of  victory. 


50  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Unseen,  who  women  held  so  dear, 

The  strong  man's  yearning  to  his  kind 
Shall  shake  at  most  the  window-blind, 

Or  dull  awhile  the  card-room's  cheer. 

In  his  own  place  of  power  unknown, 
His  Light  o'  Love  another's  flame, 
His  dearest  pony  galloped  lame, 

And  he  an  alien  and  alone! 

Yet  may  he  meet  with  many  a  friend — 
Shrewd  shadows,  lingering  long  unseen 
Among  us  when  "God  save  the  Queen" 

Shows  even  "extras"  have  an  end. 

And,  when  we  leave  the  heated  room, 
And,  when  at  four  the  lights  expire, 
The  crew  shall  gather  round  the  fire 

And  mock  our  laughter  in  the  gloom; 

Talk  as  we  talked,  and  they  ere  death — 
Flirt  wanly,  dance  in  ghostly-wise, 
With  ghosts  of  tunes  for  melodies, 

And  vanish  at  the  morning's  breath. 


ARITHMETIC  ON  THE  FRONTIER 

A  GREAT  and  glorious  thing  it  is 
To  learn,  for  seven  years  or  so, 
The  Lord  knows  what  of  that  and  this, 

Ere  reckoned  fit  to  face  the  foe — 
The  flying  bullet  down  the  Pass, 
That  whistles  clear:  "All  flesh  is  grass." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  51 

Three  hundred  pounds  per  annum  spent 

On  making  brain  and  body  meeter 
For  all  the  murderous  intent 

Comprised  in  "villainous  saltpetre!" 
And  after? — Ask  the  Yusufzaies 
What  comes  of  all  our  'ologies. 


A  scrimmage  in  a  Border  Station — 
A  canter  down  some  dark  defile — 

Two  thousand  pounds  of  education 
Drops  to  a  ten-rupee  jezail — 

The  Crammer's  boast,  the  Squadron's  pride, 

Shot  like  a  rabbit  in  a  ride! 


No  proposition  Euclid  wrote 

No  formulae  the  text-books  know, 

Will  turn  the  bullet  from  your  coat, 
Or  ward  the  tulwar's  downward  blow. 

Strike  hard  who  cares — shoot  straight  who  can- 

The  odds  are  on  the  cheaper  man. 


One  sword-knot  stolen  from  the  camp 
Will  pay  for  all  the  school  expenses 

Of  any  Kurrum  Valley  scamp 

Who  knows  no  word  of  moods  and  tenses, 

But,  being  blessed  with  perfect  sight, 

Picks  off  our  messmates  left  and  right. 


With  home-bred  hordes  the  hillsides  teem. 

The  troopships  bring  us  one  by  one, 
At  vast  expense  of  time  and  steam, 

To  slay  Afridis  where  they  run. 
The  "  captives  of  our  bow  and  spear  " 
Are  cheap,  alas !  as  we  are  dear. 


52  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOMEN 

(Lady  Dufferin's  Fund  for  medical  aid  to  the  Women  of  India) 

JJOW  shall  she  know  the  worship  we  would  do  her? 

The  walls  are  high  and  she  is  very  far. 
How  shall  the  women's  message  reach  unto  her 
Above  the  tumult  of  the  packed  bazaar? 

Free  wind  of  March,  against  the  lattice  blowing, 
Bear  thou  our  thanks  lest  she  depart  unknowing. 


Go  forth  across  the  fields  we  may  not  roam  in, 
Go  forth  beyond  the  trees  that  rim  the  city 
To  whatsoe'er  fair  place  she  hath  her  home  in, 
Who  dowered  us  with  wealth  of  love  and  pity. 
Out  of  our  shadow  pass  and  seek  her  singing — 
"I  have  no  gifts  but  Love  alone  for  bringing." 


Say  that  we  be  a  feeble  folk  who  greet  her, 

But  old  in  grief,  and  very  wise  in  tears: 
Say  that  we,  being  desolate,  entreat  her 
That  she  forget  us  not  in  after-years; 

For  we  have  seen  the  light  and  it  were  grievous 
To  dim  that  dawning  if  our  Lady  leave  us. 


By  Life  that  ebbed  with  none  to  staunch  the  failing, 

By  Love's  sad  harvest  garnered  ere  the  spring, 
When  Love  in  Ignorance  wept  unavailing 

O'er  young  buds  dead  before  their  blossoming; 

By  all  the  grey  owl  watched,  the  pale  moon  viewed, 
In  past  grim  years  declare  our  gratitude! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  53 

By  hands  uplifted  to  the  Gods  that  heard  not, 
By  gifts  that  found  no  favour  in  their  sight, 
By  faces  bent  above  the  babe  that  stirred  not, 
By  nameless  horrors  of  the  stifling  night; 

By  ills  fordone,  by  peace  her  toils  discover, 

Bid  Earth  be  good  beneath  and  Heaven  above  her  I 

If  she  have  sent  her  servants  in  our  pain, 

If  she  have  fought  with  Death  and  dulled  his  sword; 
If  she  have  given  back  our  sick  again, 
And  to  the  breast  the  weakling  lips  restored, 
Is  it  a  little  thing  that  she  has  wrought? 
Then  Life  and  Death  and  Motherhood  be  nought. 

Go  forth,  O  Wind,  our  message  on  thy  wings, 

And  they  shall  hear  thee  pass  and  bid  thee  speed, 
In  reed-roofed  hut,  or  white-walled  home  of  kings, 
Who  have  been  holpen  by  her  in  their  need. 

All  spring  shall  give  thee  fragrance,  and  the  wheat 
Shall  be  a  tasselled  floorcloth  to  thy  feet. 

Haste,  for  our  hearts  are  with  thee,  take  no  rest! 

Loud-voiced  ambassador,  from  sea  to  sea 
Proclaim  the  blessing,  manifold,  confest, 
Of  those  in  darkness  by  her  hand  set  free, 
Then  very  softly  to  her  presence  move, 
And  whisper:   "Lady,  lo,  they  know  and  love!" 


THE  BETROTHED 

You  must  choose   between   me   and  your  cigar."      Breach    of  Promise 
Case,  circa,  1885 

the  old  cigar-box,  get  me  a  Cuba  stout, 
For  things  are  running  crossways,  and  Maggie  and  I 
are  out. 


54  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We   quarrelled    about   Havanas — we    fought   o'er   a   good 

cheroot, 
And  /  know  she  is  exacting,  and  she  says  I  am  a  brute. 

Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  a  space; 

In  the  soft  blue  veil  of  the  vapour  musing  on  Maggie's  face. 

Maggie  is  pretty  to  look  at — Maggie's  a  loving  lass, 
But  the  prettiest  cheeks  must  wrinkle,  the  truest  of  loves 
must  pass. 

There's  peace  in  a  Laranaga,  there's  calm  in  a  Henry  Clay; 
But  the  best  cigar  in  an  hour  is  finished  and  thrown  away — 

Thrown  away  for  another  as  perfect  and  ripe  and  brown — 
But  I  could  not  throw  away  Maggie  for  fear  o'  the  talk  o'  the 
town! 

Maggie,  my  wife  at  fifty — grey  and  dour  and  old — 

With  never  another  Maggie  to  purchase  for  love  or  gold! 

And  the  light  of  Days  that  have  Been  the  dark  of  the  Days 

that  Are, 
And  Love's  torch  stinking  and  stale,  like  the  butt  of  a  dead 

cigar — 

The  butt  of  a  dead  cigar  you  are  bound  to  keep  in  your 

pocket — 
With  never  a  new  one  to  light  tho'  it's  charred  and  black  to 

the  socket! 


Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  a  while. 
Here  is  a  mild  Manilla — there  is  a  wifely  smile. 

Which  is  the  better  portion — bondage  bought  with  a  ring, 
Or  a  harem  of  dusky  beauties  fifty  tied  in  a  string? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  55 

Counsellors  cunning  and  silent — comforters  true  and  tried, 
And  never  a  one  of  the  fifty  to  sneer  at  a  rival  bride? 

Thought  in  the  early  morning,  solace  in  time  of  woes, 
Peace  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight,  balm  ere  my  eyelids  close, 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me,  asking  nought  in  return, 
With  only  a  Suttee's  passion — to  do  their  duty  and  burn. 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me.     When  they  are  spent  and  dead, 
Five  times  other  fifties  shall  be  my  servants  instead. 

The  furrows  of  far-off  Java,  the  isles  of  the  Spanish  Main, 
When  they  hear  my  harem  is  empty  will  send  me  my  brides 
again. 

I  will  take  no  heed  to  their  raiment,  nor  food  for  their  mouths 

withal, 
So  long  as  the  gulls  are  nesting,  so  long  as  the  showers  fall. 

I  will  scent  'em  with  best  vanilla,  with  tea  will  I  temper  their 

hides, 
And  the  Moor  and  the  Mormon  shall  envy  who  read  of  the 

tale  of  my  brides. 

For  Maggie  has  written  a  letter  to  give  me  my  choice  between 
The  wee  little  whimpering  Love  and  the  great  god  Nick  o' 
Teen. 

And  I  have  been  servant  of  Love  for  barely  a  twelvemonth 

clear, 
But  I  have  been  Priest  of  Cabanas  a  matter  of  seven  year; 

And  the  gloom  of  my  bachelor  days  is  flecked  with  the  cheery 

light 
Of  stumps  that  I  burned  to  Friendship  and  Pleasure    and 

Work  and  Fight. 


$6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  future  that  Maggie  and  I  must 

prove, 
But  the  only  light  on  the  marshes  is  the  Will-o'-the-Wisp  of 

Love. 

Will  it  see  me  safe  through  my  journey  or  leave  me  bogged 

in  the  mire? 
Since  a  puff  of  tobacco  can  cloud  it,  shall  I  follow  the  fitful 

fire? 

Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  anew — 

Old  friends,  and  who  is  Maggie  that  I  should  abandon  you? 

A  million  surplus  Maggies  are  willing  to  bear  the  yoke; 
And  a  woman  is  only  a  woman,  but  a  good  Cigar  is  a  Smoke. 

Light  me  another  Cuba — I  hold  to  my  first-sworn  vows. 

If  Maggie  will  have  no  rival,  I'll  have  no  Maggie  for  Spouse! 


A  BALLADE  OF  JAKKO  HILL 

QNE  moment  bid  the  horses  wait, 
Since  tiffin  is  not  laid  till  three, 
Below  the  upward  path  and  strait 
You  climbed  a  year  ago  with  me. 
Love  came  upon  us  suddenly 
And  loosed — an  idle  hour  to  kill — 
A  headless,  harmless  armoury 

That  smote  us  both  on  Jakko  Hill. 

Ah  Heaven!  we  would  wait  and  wait 
Through  Time  and  to  Eternity! 

Ah  Heaven!  we  would  conquer  Fate 
With  more  than  Godlike  constancy! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  57 

I  cut  the  date  upon  a  tree — 
Here  stand  the  clumsy  figures  still: — 
"  10-7-85,  A.D." 

Damp  in  the  mists  on  Jakko  Hill. 

What  came  of  high  resolve  and  great, 

And  until  Death  fidelity? 
Whose  horse  is  waiting  at  your  gate? 

Whose  'rickshaw- wheels  ride  over  me? 

No  Saint's,  I  swear;  and — let  me  see 

To-night  what  names  your  programme  fill — 
We  drift  asunder  merrily, 

As  drifts  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill! 

L'ENVOI 

Princess,  behold  our  ancient  state 

Has  clean  departed;  and  we  see 
'Twas  Idleness  we  took  for  Fate 

That  bound  light  bonds  on  you  and  me. 

Amen!     Here  ends  the  comedy 

Where  it  began  in  all  good  will, 
Since  Love  and  Leave  together  flee 

As  driven  mist  on  Jakko  Hill! 


THE  PLEA  OF  THE  SIMLA  DANCERS 

Too  late,  alas!  the  song 

To  remedy  the  wrong; — 
The  rooms  are  taken  from  us,  swept  and  garnished  for  their  fate, 

But  these  tear-besprinkled  pages 

Shall  attest  to  future  ages 
That  we  cried  against  the  crime  of  it — too  late,  alas!  too  late! 

"\\/'HAT  have  we  ever  done  to  bear  this  grudge?" 

Was  there  no  room  save  only  in  Benmore 
For  docket,  duftar?  and  for  office-drudge, 

That  you  usurp  our  smoothest  dancing  floor? 
'Office. 


58  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Must  babus  do  their  work  on  polished  teak? 

Are  ballrooms  fittest  for  the  ink  you  spill? 
Was  there  no  other  cheaper  house  to  seek? 

You  might  have  left  them  all  at  Strawberry  Hill. 

We  never  harmed  you!     Innocent  our  guise, 

Dainty  our  shining  feet,  our  voices  low; 
And  we  revolved  to  divers  melodies, 

And  we  were  happy  but  a  year  ago. 
To-night,  the  moon  that  watched  our  lightsome  wiles- 

That  beamed  upon  us  through  the  deodars — 
Is  wan  with  gazing  on  official  files, 

And  desecrating  desks  disgust  the  stars. 

Nay!  by  the  memory  of  tuneful  nights — 

Nay!  by  the  witchery  of  flying  feet — 
Nay!  by  the  glamour  of  foredone  delights — 

By  all  things  merry,  musical,  and  meet — 
By  wine  that  sparkled,  and  by  sparkling  eyes — 

By  wailing  waltz — by  reckless  gallop's  strain — 
By  dim  verandahs  and  by  soft  replies. 

Give  us  our  ravished  ballroom  back  again! 

Or — hearken  to  the  curse  we  lay  on  you! 

The  ghosts  of  waltzes  shall  perplex  your  brain, 
And  murmurs  of  past  merriment  pursue 

Your  'wildered  clerks  that  they  indite  in  vain; 
And  when  you  count  your  poor  Provincial  millions, 

The  only  figures  that  your  pen  shall  frame 
Shall  be  the  figures  of  dear,  dear  cotillions 

Danced  out  in  tumult  long  before  you  came. 

Yea!     "See  Saw"  shall  upset  your  estimates, 
"Dream  Faces"  shall  your  heavy  heads  bemuse. 

Because  your  hand,  unheeding,  desecrates 
Our  temple  fit  for  higher,  worthier  use. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  59 

And  all  the  long  verandahs,  eloquent 

With  echoes  of  a  score  of  Simla  years, 
Shall  plague  you  with  unbidden  sentiment — 

Babbling  of  kisses,  laughter,  love,  and  tears. 

So  shall  you  mazed  amid  old  memories  stand, 

So  shall  you  toil,  and  shall  accomplish  nought. 
And  ever  in  your  ears  a  phantom  Band 

Shall  blare  away  the  staid  official  thought. 
Wherefore — and  ere  this  awful  curse  be  spoken, 

Cast  out  your  swarthy  sacrilegious  train, 
And  give — ere  dancing  cease  and  hearts  be  broken — 

Give  us  our  ravished  ballroom  back  again! 


"AS  THE  BELL  CLINKS" 

A  S  I  left  the  Halls  at  Lumley,  rose  the  vision  of  a  comely 
Maid   last  season   worshipped  dumbly,  watched  with 

fervour  from  afar; 
And  I  wondered  idly,  blindly,  if  the  maid  would  greet  me 

kindly. 

That  was  all — the  rest  was  settled  by  the  clinking  tonga-bar1. 
Yea,  my  life  and  hers  were  coupled  by  the  tonga  coupling- 
bar. 

For  my  misty  meditation,  at  the  second  changing-station, 
Suffered  sudden  dislocation,  fled  before  the  tuneless  jar 
Of  a  Wagner  obbligato,  scherzo,  double-hand  staccato, 
Played  on  either  pony's  saddle  by  the  clacking  tonga-bar — 
Played  with  human  speech,  I  fancied,  by  the  jigging,  jolting 
bar. 

"She  was  sweet,"  thought  I,  "last  season,  but  'twere  surely 

wild  unreason 
"  Such  a  tiny  hope  to  freeze  on  as  was  offered  by  my  Star, 

'Bar  of  the  old-fashioned  curricle  that  took  men  up  to  Simla  before  .the 
railroad  was  made. 


€o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"When  she  whispered,  something  sadly:  'I — we  feel  your 
going  badly!'" 

"  And  you  let  the  chance  escape  you?"  rapped  the  rattling 
tonga-bar. 

"'  What  a  chance  and  what  an  idiot !  "  clicked  the  vicious  tonga- 
bar. 

Heart  of  man — O  heart  of  putty!  Had  I  gone  by  Kaka- 
hutti, 

On  the  old  Hill-road  and  rutty,  I  had  'scaped  that  fatal  car. 

But  his  fortune  each  must  bide  by,  so  I  watched  the  mile- 
stones slide  by 

To — "You  call  on  Her  to-morrow  I"  fugue  with  cymbals  by 
the  bar — 

""  You  must  call  on  Her  to-morrow  !  " — post-horn  gallop  by  the 
bar. 

Yet  a  further  stage  my  goal  on — we  were  whirling  down  to 
Solon, 

With  a  double  lurch  and  roll  on,  best  foot  foremost,  ganz 
und  gai — 

"She  was  very  sweet,"  I  hinted.  "If  a  kiss  had  been  im- 
printed—  — ?" 

"  ^ Would  ha  saved  a  world  of  trouble!"  clashed  the  busy 
tonga-bar. 

"'Been  accepted  or  rejected /"  banged  and  clanged  the  tonga- 
bar. 

Then  a  notion  wild  and  daring,  'spite  the  income-tax's  paring 
And  a  hasty  thought  of  sharing — less  than  many  incomes 

are — 
Made  me  put  a  question  private,  (you  can  guess  what  I  would 

drive  at.) 
"You  must  work  the  sum  to  prove  it"  clanked  the  careless 

tonga-bar. 
"Simple  Rule  of  Two  will  prove  it"  lilted  back  the  tonga-bar. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  61 

It  was  under  Khyraghaut  I  mused: — "Suppose  the  maid  be 
haughty — 

"There  are  lovers  rich — and  forty;  wait  some  wealthy 
Avatar? 

"Answer,  monitor  untiring,  'twixt  the  ponies  twain  per- 
spiring!" 

"Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady"  creaked  the  straining 
tonga-bar. 

"Can  I  tell  you  ere  you  ask  Her?"  pounded  slow  the  tonga- 
bar. 


Last,  the  Tara  Devi  turning  showed  the  lights  of  Simla 

burning, 

Lit  my  little  lazy  yearning  to  a  fiercer  flame  by  far. 
As  below  the  Mall  we  jingled,  through  my  very  heart  it 

tingled — 

Did  the  iterated  order  of  the  threshing  tonga-bar: — 
"  Try  your  luck — you  can't  do  better  !"  twanged  the  loosened 

tonga-bar. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  INDIA 

F)IM  dawn  behind  the    tamarisks — the    sky    is    saffron- 
yellow — 

As  the  women  in  the  village  grind  the  corn, 
And  the  parrots  seek  the  river-side,  each  calling  to  his  fellow 
That  the  Day,  the  staring  Eastern  Day,  is  born. 

O  the  white  dust  on  the  highway!     O  the  stenches  in 

the  byway! 

O  the  clammy  fog  that  hovers  over  earth ! 
And  at  Home  they're  making  merry  'neath  the  white 

and  scarlet  berry — 
What  part  have  India's  exiles  in  their  mirth? 


62  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Full  day  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sky  is  blue  and  staring — 

As  the  cattle  crawl  afield  beneath  the  yoke, 
And  they  bear  One  o'er  the  field-path,  who  is  past  all  hope  or 

caring, 
To  the  ghat  below  the  curling  wreaths  of  smoke. 

Call  on  Rama,  going  slowly,  as  ye  bear  a  brother  lowly — 

Call  on  Rama — he  may  hear,  perhaps,  your  voice! 
With  our  hymn-books  and  our  psalters  we  appeal  to 

other  altars, 
And  to-day  we  bid  "good  Christian  men  rejoice!" 


High   noon  behind  the   tamarisks — the   sun  is  hot  above 

us — 

As  at  Home  the  Christmas  Day  is  breaking  wan. 
They  will  drink  our  healths  at  dinner — those  who  tell  us  how 

they  love  us, 
And  forget  us  till  another  year  be  gone! 

O  the  toil  that  knows  no  breaking!    O  the  heimweh, 

ceaseless,  aching! 

O  the  black  dividing  Sea  and  alien  Plain! 
Youth   was   cheap — wherefore   we   sold  it.     Gold  was 

good — we  hoped  to  hold  it. 
And  to-day  we  know  the  fulness  of  our  gain ! 


Grey  dusk  behind  the  tamarisks — the  parrots  fly  together — 

As  the  Sun  is  sinking  slowly  over  Home; 
And  his  last  ray  seems  to  mock  us  shackled  in  a  lifelong 

tether 
That  drags  us  back  howe'er  so  far  we  roam. 

Hard  her  service,  poor  her  payment — she  in  ancient, 

tattered  raiment — 

India,  she  the  grim  Stepmother  of  our  kind. 
If  a  year  of  life  be  lent  her,  if  her  temple's  shrine  we  enter, 
The  door  is  shut — we  may  not  look  behind. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  63 

Black  night  behind   the   tamarisks — the  owls  begin   their 

chorus — 

As  the  conches  from  the  temple  scream  and  bray. 
With  the  fruitless  years  behind  us  and  the  hopeless  years 

before  us, 
Let  us  honour,  O  my  brothers,  Christmas  Day! 

Call  a  truce,  then,  to  our  labours — let  us  feast  with 

friends  and  neighbours, 
And  be  merry  as  the  custom  of  our  caste; 
For,  if  "faint  and  forced  the  laughter,"  and  if  sadness 

follow  after, 
We  are  richer  by  one  mocking  Christmas  past. 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD 

^HERE'S  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 

Who  weeps  for  her  only  son; 
There's  a  grave  on  the  Pabeng  Rivery 

A  grave  that  the  Eurmans  shun, 
And  there's  Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 
Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 

A  Snider  squibbed  in  the  jungle — 

Somebody  laughed  and  fled, 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Picked  up  their  Subaltern  dead, 
With  a  big  blue  mark  in  his  forehead 

And  the  back  blown  out  of  his  head. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Jemadar  Hira  Lai, 
Took  command  of  the  party, 

Twenty  rifles  in  all, 
Marched  them  down  to  the  river 

As  the  day  was  beginning  to  fall. 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  buried  the  boy  by  the  river, 

A  blanket  over  his  face — 
They  wept  for  their  dead  Lieutenant, 

The  men  of  an  alien  race — 
They  made  a  samadh1  in  his  honour, 

A  mark  for  his  resting-place. 

For  they  swore  by  the  Holy  Water, 
They  swore  by  the  salt  they  ate, 

That  the  soul  of  Lieutenant  Eshmitt  Sahib 
Should  go  to  his  God  in  state; 

With  fifty  file  of  Burman 
To  open  him  Heaven's  Gate. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Marched  till  the  break  of  day, 
Till  they  came  to  the  rebel  village, 

The  village  of  Pabengmay — 
Ajittfa/*  covered  the  clearing, 

Calthrops  hampered  the  way. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Bidding  them  load  with  ball, 
Halted  a  dozen  rifles 

Under  the  village  wall; 
Sent  out  a  flanking-party 

With  Jemadar  Hira  Lai. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Shouted  and  smote  and  slew, 
Turning  the  grinning  jingal 

On  to  the  howling  crew. 
The  Jemadar's  flanking-party 

Butchered  the  folk  who  flew. 

*A  memorial.  'Native  cannon. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  65 

Long  was  the  morn  of  slaughter, 

Long  was  the  list  of  slain, 
Five  score  heads  were  taken, 

Five  score  heads  and  twain; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  to  their  grave  again, 


Each  man  bearing  a  basket 

Red  as  his  palms  that  day, 
Red  as  the  blazing  village — 

The  village  of  Pabengmay. 
And  the  "drip-drip-drip"  from  the  baskets 

Reddened  the  grass  by  the  way. 

They  made  a  pile  of  their  trophies 

High  as  a  tall  man's  chin, 
Head  upon  head  distorted, 

Set  in  a  sightless  grin, 
Anger  and  pain  and  terror 

Stamped  on  the  smoke-scorched  skin. 


Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Put  the  head  of  the  Boh 
On  the  top  of  the  mound  of  triumph, 

The  head  of  his  son  below — 
With  the  sword  and  the  peacock-banner 

That  the  world  might  behold  and  know. 

Thus  the  samadh  was  perfect, 

Thus  was  the  lesson  plain 
Of  the  wrath  of  the  First  Shikaris — 

The  price  of  a  white  man  slain; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  into  camp  again. 


66  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  a  silence  came  to  the  river, 

A  hush  fell  over  the  shore, 
And  the  Bohs  that  were  brave  departed, 

And  Sniders  squibbed  no  more; 

For  the  Burmans  said 

That  a  white-man's  head 
Must  be  paid  for  with  heads  five-score. 

There  s  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 
Who  weeps  for  her  only  son; 

There's  a  grave  on  the  Pabeng  River, 
A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shun, 

And  there's  Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 
Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 


AN  OLD  SONG 

§O  LONG  as  'neath  the  Kalka  hills 

The  tonga-horn  shall  ring, 
So  long  as  down  the  Solon  dip 
The  hard-held  ponies  swing, 
So  long  as  Tara  Devi  sees 

The  lights  of  Simla  town, 
So  long  as  Pleasure  calls  us  up, 
Or  Duty  drives  us  down, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  two  ? 

So  long  as  Aces  take  the  King, 

Or  backers  take  the  bet, 
So  long  as  debt  leads  men  to  wed, 

Or  marriage  leads  to  debt, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  67 

So  long  as  little  luncheons,  Love, 
And  scandal  hold  their  vogue, 
While  there  is  sport  at  Annandale 
Or  whisky  at  Jutogh, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 

What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two  ? 


So  long  as  down  the  rocking  floor 

The  raving  polka  spins, 
So  long  as  Kitchen  Lancers  spur 

The  maddened  violins, 
So  long  as  through  the  whirling  smoke 

We  hear  the  oft-told  tale — 
"Twelve  hundred  in  the  Lotteries," 

And  Whatshername  for  sale? 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
We  II  play  the  game  and  win  it  too. 


So  long  as  Lust  or  Lucre  tempt 

Straight  riders  from  the  course, 
So  long  as  with  each  drink  we  pour 

Black  brewage  of  Remorse, 
So  long  as  those  unloaded  guns 

We  keep  beside  the  bed, 
Blow  off,  by  obvious  accident, 

The  lucky  owner's  head, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
What  can  Life  kill  or  Death  undo  ? 


So  long  as  Death  'twixt  dance  and  dance 
Chills  best  and  bravest  blood, 

And  drops  the  reckless  rider  down 
The  rotten,  rain-soaked  khud, 


68  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

So  long  as  rumours  from  the  North 

Make  loving  wives  afraid, 
So  long  as  Burma  takes  the  boy 
Or  typhoid  kills  the  maid, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two  ? 

By  all  that  lights  our  daily  life 

Or  works  our  lifelong  woe, 
From  Boileaugunge  to  Simla  Downs 

And  those  grim  glades  below, 
Where,  heedless  of  the  flying  hoof 

And  clamour  overhead, 
Sleep,  with  the  grey  langur  for  guard 

Our  very  scornful  Dead, 
If 'you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
All  Earth  is  servant  to  us  two  ! 

By  Docket,. Billetdoux,  and  File, 

By  Mountain,  Cliff,  and  Fir, 
By  Fan  and  Sword  and  Office-box, 

By  Corset,  Plume,  and  Spur 
By  Riot,  Revel,  Waltz,  and  War, 

By  Women,  Work,  and  Bills, 
By  all  the  life  that  fizzes  in 

The  everlasting  Hills, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  two  ? 


CERTAIN  MAXIMS  OF  HAFIZ 

i 

TF  IT  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  stalled  in  the  packed  serai, 
Does  not  the  Young  Man  try  Its  temper  and  pace  ere  he 
buy? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  69 

If  She  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  what  does  the  Young  Man  say? 
"Lo!     She  is  pleasant  to  look  on.     Give  Her  to  me  to-day !" 


Yea,  though  a  Kafir  die,  to  him  is  remitted  Jehannum 
If  he  borrowed  in  life  from  a  native  at  sixty  per  cent,  per 
annum. 

in 

Blister  we  not  for  bursati1  ?     So  when  the  heart  is  vext, 
The  pain  of  one  maiden's  refusal  is  drowned  in  the  pain  of 
the  next. 

IV 

The  temper  of  chums,  the  love  of  your  wife,  and  a  new  pi- 
ano's tune — 

Which  of  the  three  will  you  trust  at  the  end  of  an  Indian 
June? 


Who  are  the  rulers  of  Ind —  to  whom  shall  we  bow  the  knee? 
Make  your  peace  with  the  women,  and  men  will  make  you 
L.  G.2 

VI 

Does  the  woodpecker  flit  round  the  young  f crash  ?     Does 

the  grass  clothe  a  new-built  wall? 
Is  she  under  thirty,  the  woman  who  holds  a  boy  in  her  thrall  ? 


VII 

If  She  grow  suddenly  gracious — reflect.     Is  it  all  for  thee? 
The  blackbuck  is  stalked  through  the  bullock,  and  Man 
through  jealousy. 

*A  skin  disease  of  horses.  'Lieutenant-Governor. 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


Seek  not  for  favour  of  women.     So  shall  you  find  it  indeed. 
Does  not  the  boar  break  cover  just  when  you're  lighting  a 
weed  ? 


IX 

If  He  play,  being  young  and  unskilful,  for  shekels  of  silver 
and  gold, 

Take  His  money,  my  son,  praising  Allah.  The  kid  was  or- 
dained to  be  sold. 


With  a  "weed"  among  men  or  horses  verily  this  is  the  best, 
That  you  work  him  in  office  or  dog-cart  lightly — but  give 
him  no  rest. 


Pleasant  the  snaffle  of  Courtship,  improving  the  manners 
and  carriage; 

But  the  colt  who  is  wise  will  abstain  from  the  terrible  thorn- 
bit  of  Marriage. 


As  the  thriftless  gold  of  the  babul1  so  is  the  gold  that  we  spread 
On  a  Derby  Sweep,  or  our  neighbour's  wife,  or  the  horse 
that  we  buy  from  a  friend. 

XIII 

The  ways  of  man  with  a  maid  be  strange,  yet  simple  and 

tame 
To  the  ways  of  a  man  with  a  horse,  when  selling  or  racing 

that  same. 

1  Acacia. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  71 


XIV 

In  public  Her  face  turneth  to  thee,  and  pleasant  Her  smile 

when  ye  meet. 
It  is  ill.     The  cold  rocks  of  El-Gidar  smile  thus  on  the  waves 

at  their  feet. 
In  public  Her  face  is  averted,  with  anger  She  nameth  thy 

name. 
It  is  well.     Was  there  ever  a  loser  content  with  the  loss  of  the 

game? 


If  She  have  spoken  a  word,  remember  thy  lips  are  sealed, 

And  the  Brand  of  the  Dog  is  upon  him  by  whom  is  the  secret 
revealed. 

If  She  have  written  a  letter,  delay  not  an  instant  but  burn  it. 

Tear  it  in  pieces,  O  Fool,  and  the  wind  to  her  mate  shall  re- 
turn it! 

If  there  be  trouble  to  Herward,  and  a  lie  of  the  blackest 
can  clear, 

Lie,  while  thy  lips  can  move  or  a  man  is  alive  to  hear. 

XVI 

My  Son,  if  a  maiden  deny  thee  and  scufflingly  bid  thee  give 

o'er, 
Yet  lip  meets  with  lip  at  the  lastward.     Get  out!     She  has 

been  there  before. 
They  are  pecked  on  the  ear  and  the  chin  and  the  nose  who 

are  lacking  in  lore. 


If  we  fall  in  the  race,  though  we  win,  the  hoof-slide  is  scarred 

on  the  course. 
Though  Allah  and  Earth  pardon  Sin,  remaineth  for  ever 

Remorse. 


72  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


"By  all  I  am  misunderstood!"  if  the  Matron  shall  say,  or 
the  Maid: — 

"Alas!  I  do  not  understand,"  my  son,  be  thou  nowise 
afraid. 

In  vain  in  the  sight  of  the  Bird  is  the  net  of  the  Fowler  dis- 
played. 

XIX 

My  son,  if  I,  Hafiz,  thy  father,  take  hold  of  thy  knees  in  my 

pain, 
Demanding  thy  name  on  stamped  paper,  one  day  or  one 

hour — refrain. 
Are  the  links  of  thy  fetters  so  light  that  thou  cravest  another 

man's  chain? 


THE  MOON  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

gENEATH  the  deep  verandah's  shade, 

When  bats  begin  to  fly, 
I  sit  me  down  and  watch — alas! 

Another  evening  die. 
Blood-red  behind  the  sereferash1 

She  rises  through  the  haze. 
Sainted  Diana!  can  that  be 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days! 

Ah!  shade  of  little  Kitty  Smith, 

Sweet  Saint  of  Kensington! 
Say,  was  it  ever  thus  at  Home 

The  Moon  of  August  shone, 
When  arm  in  arm  we  wandered  long 

Through  Putney's  evening  haze, 
And  Hammersmith  was  Heaven  beneath 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days? 
'Tamarisk. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  73 

But  VVandle's  stream  is  Sutlej  now, 

And  Putney's  evening  haze 
The  dust  that  half  a  hundred  kine 

Before  my  window  raise. 
Unkempt,  unclean,  athwart  the  mist 

The  seething  city  looms, 
In  place  of  Putney's  golden  gorse 

The  sickly  babul  blooms. 

Glare  down,  old  Hecate,  through  the  dust, 

And  bid  the  pie-dog  yell, 
Draw  from  the  drain  its  typhoid-germ, 

From  each  bazaar  its  smell; 
Yea,  suck  the  fever  from  the  tank 

And  sap  my  strength  therewith: 
Thank  Heaven,  you  show  a  smiling  face 

To  little  Kitty  Smith! 


THE  FALL  OF  JOCK  GILLESPIE 

IS  fell  when  dinner-time  was  done — 
'Twixt  the  first  an'  the  second  rub — 
That  oor  mon  Jock  cam'  hame  again 
To  his  rooms  ahint  the  Club. 

An'  syne  he  laughed,  an'  syne  he  sang, 

An'  syne  we  thocht  him  fou, 
An'  syne  he  trumped  his  partner's  trick, 

An'  garred  his  partner  rue. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  elder  mon, 

That  held  the  Spade  its  Ace — 
God  save  the  lad!     Whence  comes  the  licht 

"That  wimples  on  his  face?" 


74  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

An'  Jock  he  sniggered,  an'  Jock  he  smiled, 

An'  ower  the  card-brim  wunk: — 
"I'm  a'  too  fresh  fra'  the  stirrup-peg, 

"May  be  that  I  am  drunk." 

"There's  whusky  brewed  in  Galashiels 

"An'  L.  L.  L.  forbye; 
"But  never  liquor  lit  the  lowe 

"That  keeks  fra'  oot  your  eye. 

"There's  a  thrid  o'  hair  on  your  dress-coat  breast, 

"Aboon  the  heart  a  wee?" 
"Oh!  that  is  fra'  the  lang-haired  Skye 

"That  slobbers  ower  me." 


"Oh!  lang-haired  Skyes  are  lovin'  beasts, 

"An'  terrier  dogs  are  fair, 
"But  never  yet  was  terrier  born, 

"Wi'  ell-lang  gowden  hair! 

"There's  a  smirch  o'  pouther  on  your  breast, 

"Below  the  left  lappel?" 
"Oh!  that  is  fra'  my  auld  cigar, 

"Whenas  the  stump-end  fell." 

"  Mon  Jock,  ye  smoke  the  Trichi  coarse, 

"For  ye  are  short  o'  cash, 
"An'  best  Havanas  couldna  leave 

"Sae  white  an'  pure  an  ash. 

"This  nicht  ye  stopped  a  story  braid, 

"An'  stopped  it  wi'  a  curse. 
"Last  nicht  ye  told  that  tale  yoursel' — 

"An'  capped  it  wi'  a  worse! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  75 

"Oh!  we're  no  fou!    Oh!  we're  no  fou! 

"But  plainly  we  can  ken 
"Ye're  fallin',  fallin'  fra  the  band 

"O'  can  tie  single  men!" 

An'  it  fell  when  j/rm-shaws  were  sere, 

An'  the  nichts  were  lang  and  mirk, 
In  braw  new  breeks,  wi'  a  gowden  ring, 

Oor  Jockie  gaed  to  the  Kirk! 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAID 

Queen  Victoria  s  Jubilee. 
JUNE  2IST,  1887 

gY  THE  well,  where  the  bullocks  go 

Silent  and  blind  and  slow — 
By  the  field,  where  the  young  corn  dies 
In  the  face  of  the  sultry  skies, 
They  have  heard,  as  the  dull  Earth  hears 
The  voice  of  the  wind  of  an  hour, 
The  sound  of  the  Great  Queen's  voice: — 
"My  God  hath  given  me  years, 
"Hath  granted  dominion  and  power: 
"And  I  bid  you,  O  Land,  rejoice." 

And  the  Ploughman  settles  the  share 
More  deep  in  the  grudging  clod; 
For  he  saith: — "The  wheat  is  my  care, 
"And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God. 
"He  sent  the  Mahratta  spear 
"As  He  sendeth  the  rain, 
"And  the  Mtech,1  in  the  fated  year, 
"  Broke  the  spear  in  twain, 
'The  foreigner. 


76  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"And  was  broken  in  turn.     Who  knows 
"How  our  Lords  make  strife? 
"It  is  good  that  the  young  wheat  grows, 
"For  the  bread  is  Life." 


Then,  far  and  near,  as  the  twilight  drew, 

Hissed  up  to  the  scornful  dark 
Great  serpents,  blazing,  of  red  and  blue, 
That  rose  and  faded,  and  rose  anew, 

That  the  Land  might  \\onder  and  mark. 
"To-day  is  a  day  of  days,"  they  said, 
"Make  merry,  O  People,  all!" 
And  the  Ploughman  listened  and  bowed  his  head: 
"To-day  and  to-morrow  God's  will,"  he  said, 
As  he  trimmed  the  lamps  on  the  wall. 


"He  sendeth  us  years  that  are  good, 
"As  He  sendeth  the  dearth. 
"He  giveth  to  each  man  his  food, 
"Or  Her  food  to  the  Earth. 
"Our  Kings  and  our  Queens  are  afar- 
"On  their  peoples  be  peace — 
"God  bringeth  the  rain  to  the  Bar, 
"That  our  cattle  increase." 


And  the  Ploughman  settled  the  share 

More  deep  in  the  sun-dried  clod: — 

"Mogul,  Mahratta,  and  Mlech  from  the  North, 

"And  White  Queen  over  the  Seas — 

"God  raiseth  them  up  and  driveth  them  forth 

"As  the  dust  of  the  ploughshare  flies  in  the  breeze; 

"But  the  wheat  and  the  cattle  are  all  my  care, 

"And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  77 


THE  UNDERTAKER'S  HORSE 

"To-tschin-shu  is  condemned  to  death.     How  can  he  drink  tea  with  the 
Executioner?" — Japanese  Proverb. 

'JpHE  eldest  son  bestrides  him, 

And  the  pretty  daughter  rides  him, 
And  I  meet  him  oft  o'  mornings  on  the  Course; 
And  there  kindles  in  my  bosom 
An  emotion  chill  and  gruesome 
As  I  canter  past  the  Undertaker's  Horse. 


Neither  shies  he  nor  is  restive, 

But  a  hideously  suggestive 

Trot,  professional  and  placid,  he  affects; 

And  the  cadence  of  his  hoof-beats 

To  my  mind  this  grim  reproof  beats: — 

"Mend  your  pace,  my  friend,  I'm  coming.     Who's  the  next?' 


Ah!  stud-bred  of  ill-omen, 

I  have  watched  the  strongest  go — men 

Of  pith  and  might  and  muscle — at  your  heels, 

Down  the  plantain-bordered  highway, 

(Heaven  send  it  ne'er  be  my  way!) 

In  a  lacquered  box  and  jetty  upon  wheels. 


Answer,  sombre  beast  and  dreary, 
Where  is  Brown,  the  young,  the  cheery, 
Smith,  the  pride  of  all  his  friends  and  half  the  Force? 
You  were  at  that  last  dread  dak1 
We  must  cover  at  a  walk, 
Bring  them  back  to  me,  O  Undertaker's  Horse! 
'Stage  of  a  journey. 


78  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

With  your  mane  unhogged  and  flowing, 

And  your  curious  way  of  going, 

And  that  businesslike  black  crimping  of  your  tail, 

E'en  with  Beauty  on  your  back,  Sir, 

Pacing  as  a  lady's  hack,  Sir, 

What  wonder  when  I  meet  you  I  turn  pale? 

It  may  be  you  wait  your  time,  Beast, 

Till  I  write  my  last  bad  rhyme,  Beast — 

Quit  the  sunlight,  cut  the  rhyming,  drop  the  glass — 

Follow  after  with  the  others, 

Where  some  dusky  heathen  smothers 

Us  with  marigolds  in  lieu  of  English  grass. 

Or,  perchance,  in  years  to  follow, 

I  shall  watch  your  plump  sides  hollow, 

See  Carnifex  (gone  lame)  become  a  corse — 

See  old  age  at  last  o'erpower  you, 

And  the  Station  Pack  devour  you, 

I  shall  chuckle  then,  O  Undertaker's  Horse! 

But  to  insult,  jibe,  and  quest,  I've 

Still  the  hideously  suggestive 

Trot  that  hammers  out  the  unrelenting  text, 

And  I  hear  it  hard  behind  me 

In  what  place  soe'er  I  find  me: — 

"  'Sure  to  catch  you  sooner  or  later.     Who's  the  next?1 


ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS 
LORD  DUFFERIN  TO  LORD  LANSDOWNE: — 

CO  HERE'S  your  Empire.    No  more  wine,  then  ?    Good. 

We'll  clear  the  Aides  and  khitmutgars  away. 
(You'll  know  that  fat  old  fellow  with  the  knife — 
He  keeps  the  Name  Book,  talks  in  English,  too, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  79 

And  almost  thinks  himself  the  Government.) 

0  Youth,  Youth,  Youth!     Forgive  me,  you're  so  young. 
Forty  from  sixty — twenty  years  of  work 

And  power  to  back  the  working.     Ay  de  mi . 
You  want  to  know,  you  want  to  see,  to  touch 
And,  by  your  lights,  to  act.     It's  natural. 

1  wonder  can  I  help  you  ?     Let  me  try. 

You  saw — what  did  you  see  from  Bombay  east? 

Enough  to  frighten  any  one  but  me? 

Neat  that!     It  frightened  Me  in  Eighty-Four! 

You  shouldn't  take  a  man  from  Canada 

And  bid  him  smoke  in  powder-magazines; 

Nor  with  a  Reputation  such  as — Bah! 

That  ghost  has  haunted  me  for  twenty  years, 

My  Reputation  now  full-blown.     Your  fault! 

Yours,  with  your  stories  of  the  strife  at  Home, 

Who's  up,  who's  down,  who  leads  and  who  is  led — 

One  reads  so  much,  one  hears  so  little  here. 

Well,  now's  your  turn  of  exile.     I  go  back 

To  Rome  and  leisure.     All  roads  lead  to  Rome. 

Or  books — the  refuge  of  the  destitute. 

When  you  .  .  .  that  brings  me  back  to  India.     See! 

Start  clear.     I  couldn't.     Egypt  served  my  turn. 
You'll  never  plumb  the  Oriental  mind, 
And  if  you  did,  it  isn't  worth  the  toil. 
Think  of  a  sleek  French  priest  in  Canada; 
Divide  by  twenty  half-breeds.     Multiply 
By  twice  the  Sphinx's  silence.     There's  your  East, 
And  you're  as  wise  as  ever.     So  am  I. 

Accept  on  trust  and  work  in  darkness,  strike 
At  venture,  stumble  forward,  make  your  mark, 
(It's  chalk  on  granite)  then  thank  God  no  flame 
Leaps  from  the  rock  to  shrivel  mark  and  man. 
I'm  clear — my  mark  is  made.     Three  months  of  drouth 
Had  ruined  much.     It  rained  and  washed  away 
The  specks  that  might  Jiave  gathered  on  my  Name. 
I  took  a  country  twice  the  size  of  France, 


8o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  shuttered  up  one  doorway  in  the  North. 

I  stand  by  those.     You'll  find  that  both  will  pay, 

I  pledged  my  Name  on  both — they're  yours  to-night. 

Hold  to  them — they  hold  fame  enough  for  two. 

I'm  old,  but  I  shall  live  till  Burma  pays. 

Men  there — not  German  traders — Cr-sthw-te  knows — 

You'll  find  it  in  my  papers.     For  the  North 

Guns  always — quietly — but  always  guns. 

You've  seen  your  Council?     Yes,  they'll  try  to  rule, 

And  prize  their  Reputations.     Have  you  met 

A  grim  lay-reader  with  a  taste  for  coins, 

And  faith  in  Sin  most  men  withhold  from  God? 

He's  gone  to  England.     R-p-n  knew  his  grip 

And  kicked.     A  Council  always  has  its  H-pes. 

They  look  for  nothing  from  the  West  but  Death 

Or  Bath  or  Bournemouth.    -Here's  their  ground. 

They  fight. 

Until  the  Middle  Classes  take  them  back, 
One  of  ten  millions  plus  a  C.  S.  I., 
Or  drop  in  harness.     Legion  of  the  Lost  ? 
Not  altogether.     Earnest,  narrow  men, 
But  chiefly  earnest,  and  they'll  do  your  work, 
And  end  by  writing  letters  to  the  Times. 
(Shall  I  write  letters,  answering  H-nt-r — fawn 
With  R-p-n  on  the  Yorkshire  grocers?     Ugh!) 
They  have  their  Reputations.     Look  to  one — 
I  work  with  him — the  smallest  of  them  all, 
W7hite-haired,  red-faced,  who  sat  the  plunging  horse 
Out  in  the  garden.     He's  your  right-hand  man, 
And  dreams  of  tilting  W-ls-y  from  the  throne, 
But  while  he  dreams  gives  work  we  cannot  buy; 
He  has  his  Reputation — wants  the  Lords 
By  way  of  Frontier  Roads.     Meantime,  I  think, 
He  values  very  much  the  hand  that  falls 
Upon  his  shoulder  at  the  Council  table — 
Hates  cats  and  knows  his  business.     Which  is  yours. 
Your  business!     Twice  a  hundred  million  souls. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  81 

Your  business!     I  could  tell  you  what  I  did 

Some  nights  of  Eighty-five,  at  Simla,  worth 

A  Kingdom's  ransom.     When  a  big  ship  drives 

God  knows  to  what  new  reef,  the  man  at  the  wheel 

Prays  with  the  passengers.     They  lose  their  lives, 

Or  rescued  go  their  way;  but  he's  no  man 

To  take  his  trick  at  the  wheel  again.     That's  worse 

Than  drowning.     Well,  a  galled  Mashobra  mule 

(You'll  see  Mashobra)  passed  me  on  the  Mall, 

And  I  was — some  fool's  wife  had  ducked  and  bowed 

To  show  the  others  I  would  stop  and  speak. 

Then  the  mule  fell — three  galls,  a  hand-breadth  each, 

Behind  the  withers.     Mrs.  Whatsisname 

Leers  at  the  mule  and  me  by  turns,  thweet  thoul! 

"How  could  they  make  him  carry  such  a  load!" 

I  saw — it  isn't  often  I  dream  dreams — 

More  than  the  mule  that  minute — smoke  and  flame 

From  Simla  to  the  haze  below.     That's  weak. 

You're  younger.     You'll  dream  dreams  before  you've  done. 

You've  youth,  that's  one;  good  workmen — that  means  two 

Fair  chances  in  your  favour.     Fate's  the  third. 

I  know  what  7  did.     Do  you  ask  me,  "Preach?" 

I  answer  by  my  past  or  else  go  back 

To  platitudes  of  rule — or  take  you  thus 

In  confidence  and  say: — "You  know  the  trick: 

"You've  governed  Canada.     You  know.     You  know!" 

And  all  the  while  commend  you  to  Fate's  hand 

(Here  at  the  top  one  loses  sight  o'  God), 

Commend  you,  then,  to  something  more  than  you — 

The  Other  People's  blunders  and  .  .  .  that's  all. 

I'd  agonise  to  serve  you  if  I  could. 

It's  incommunicable,  like  the  cast 

That  drops  the  hackle  with  the  gut  adry. 

Too  much — too  little — there's  your  salmon  lost! 

And  so  I  tell  you  nothing — wish  you  luck, 

And  wonder — how  I  wonder! — for  your  sake! 

And  triumph  for  my  own.     You're  young,  you're  young, 


82  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

You  hold  to  half  a  hundred  Shibboleths. 

I'm  old.     I  followed  Power  to  the  last, 

Gave  her  my  best,  and  Power  followed  Me. 

It's  worth  it — on  my  soul  I'm  speaking  plain, 

Here  by  the  claret  glasses! — worth  it  all. 

I  gave — no  matter  what  I  gave — I  win. 

I  know  I  win.     Mine's  work,  good  work  that  lives! 

A  country  twice  the  size  of  France — the  North 

Safeguarded.     That's  my  record:  sink  the  rest 

And  better  if  you  can.     The  Rains  may  serve, 

Rupees  may  rise — three  pence  will  give  you  Fame — 

It's  rash  to  hope  for  sixpence     ...     If  they  rise 

Get  guns,  more  guns,  and  lift  the  salt-tax.     Oh! 

/  told  you  what  the  Congress  meant  or  thought? 

I'll  answer  nothing.     Half  a  year  will  prove 

The  full  extent  of  time  and  thought  you'll  spare 

To  Congress.     Ask  a  Lady  Doctor  once 

How  little  Begums  see  the  light — deduce 

Thence  how  the  True  Reformer's  child  is  born. 

It's  interesting,  curious  .  .  .  and  vile. 

I  told  the  Turk  he  was  a  gentleman. 

I  told  the  Russian  that  his  Tartar  veins 

Bled  pure  Parisian  ichor;  and  he  purred. 

The  Congress  doesn't  purr.     I  think  it  swears. 

You're  young — you'll  swear  too  ere  you've  reached  the  end. 

The  End!     God  help  you,  if  there  be  a  God. 

(There  must  be  one  to  startle  Gl-dst-ne's  soul 

In  that  new  land  where  all  the  wires  are  cut, 

And  Cr-ss  snores  anthems  on  the  asphodel.) 

God  help  you!    And  I'd  help  you  if  I  could, 

But  that's  beyond  me.     Yes,  your  speech  was  crude. 

Sound  claret  after  olives — yours  and  mine; 

But  Medoc  slips  into  vin  ordinaire. 

(I'll  drink  my  first  at  Genoa  to  your  health) 

Raise  it  to  Hock.     You'll  never  catch  my  style. 

And,  after  all,  the  middle-classes  grip 

The  middle-class — for  Brompton  talk  Earl's  Court. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  83 

Perhaps  you're  right.     I'll  see  you  in  the  Times — 

A  quarter-column  of  eye-searing  print, 

A  leader  once  a  quarter — then  a  war; 

The  Strand  a-bellow  through  the  fog: — "Defeat!" 

"'Orrible  slaughter!"     While  you  lie  awake 

And  wonder.     Oh,  you'll  wonder  ere  you're  free! 

I  wonder  now.     The  four  years  slide  away 

So  fast,  so  fast,  and  leave  me  here  alone. 

R— y,  C-lv-n,  L— 1,  R-b-rts,  B-ck,  the  rest, 

Princes  and  Powers  of  Darkness,  troops  and  trains, 

(I  cannot  sleep  in  trains),  land  piled  on  land, 

Whitewash  and  weariness,  red  rockets,  dust, 

White  snows  that  mocked  me,  palaces — with  draughts, 

And  W-stl-nd  with  the  drafts  he  couldn't  pay. 

Poor  W-ls-n  reading  his  obituary 

Before  he  died,  and  H-pe,  the  man  with  bones, 

And  A-tch-s-n  a  dripping  mackintosh 

At  Council  in  the  Rains,  his  grating  "Sirrr" 

Half  drowned  by  H-nt-r's  silky:  "Bat  my  lahd." 

Hunterian  always:  M-rsh-1  spinning  plates 

Or  standing  on  his  head;  the  Rent  Bill's  roar, 

A  hundred  thousand  speeches,  much  red  cloth, 

And  Smiths  thrice  happy  if  I  call  them  Jones, 

(I  can't  remember  half  their  names)  or  reined 

My  pony  on  the  Mall  to  greet  their  wives. 

More  trains,  more  troops,  more  dust,  and  then  all's  done   .  .  . 

Four  years,  and  I  forget.     If  I  forget, 

How  will  they  bear  me  in  their  minds?     The  North 

Safeguarded — nearly  (R-b-rts  knows  the  rest), 

A  country  twice  the  size  of  France  annexed. 

That  stays  at  least.     The  rest  may  pass — may  pass — 

Your  heritage — and  I  can  teach  you  naught. 

"High  trust,"  "vast  honour,"  "interests  twice  as  vast," 

"Due  reverence  to  your  Council" — keep  to  those. 

I  envy  you  the  twenty  years  you've  gained, 

But  not  the  five  to  follow.     What's  that?     One! 

Two! — Surely  not  so  late.     Good-night.     Don't  dream. 


84  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

GALLANT  was  our  galley  from  her  carven  steering- 

wheel 

To  her  figurehead  of  silver  and  her  beak  of  hammered  steel; 
The  leg-bar  chafed  the  ankle  and  we  gasped  for  cooler  air, 
But  no  galley  on  the  waters  with  our  galley  could  compare! 

Our  bulkheads  bulged  with  cotton  and  our  masts  were  stepped 

in  gold  — 

We  ran  a  mighty  merchandise  of  niggers  in  the  hold; 
The  white  foam  spun  behind  us,  and  the  black  shark  swam 

below, 
As  we  gripped  the  kicking  sweep-head  and  we  made  the 

galley  go. 

It  was  merry  in  the  galley,  for  we  revelled  now  and  then  — 
If  they  wore  us  down  like  cattle,  faith,  we  fought  and  loved 

like  men! 
As  we  snatched  her  through  the  water,  so  we  snatched  a 

minute's  bliss, 
And  the  mutter  of  the  dying  never  spoiled  the  lover's  kiss. 

Our  women  and  our  children  toiled  beside  us  in  the  dark  — 
They  died,  we  filed  their  fetters,  and  we  heaved  them  to  the 

shark  — 

We  heaved  them  to  the  fishes,  but  so  fast  the  galley  sped 
We  had  only  time  to  envy,  for  we  could  not  mourn  our  dead. 

Bear  witness,  once  my  comrades,  what  a  hard-bit  gang  were 

we  — 

The  servants  of  the  sweep-head,  but  the  masters  of  the  sea! 
By  the  hands  that  drove  her  forward  as  she  plunged  and 

yawed  and  sheered, 
Woman,  Man,  or  God  or  Devil,  was  there  anything  we 

feared? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  85 

Was  it  storm?     Our  fathers  faced  it  and  a  wilder  never  blew; 

Earth  that  waited  for  the  wreckage  watched  the  galley 
struggle  through. 

Burning  noon  or  choking  midnight,  Sickness,  Sorrow,  Part- 
ing, Death? 

Nay,  our  very  babes  would  mock  you  had  they  time  for  idle 
breath. 


But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley  and  another  takes  my  place; 
There's  my  name  upon  the  deck-beam — let  it  stand  a  little 

space. 
I  am  free — to  watch  my  messmates  beating  out  to  open 

main, 
Free  of  all  that  Life  can  offer — save  to  handle  sweep  again. 

By  the  brand  upon  my  shoulder,  by  the  gall  of  clinging 

steel, 
By  the  welt  the  whips  have  left  me,  by  the  scars  that  never 

heal; 
By  eyes  grown  old  with'  staring  through  the  sun  wash  on  the 

brine, 
I  am  paid  in  full  for  service.     Would  that  service  still  were 

mine! 

Yet  they  talk  of  times  and  seasons  and  of  woe  the  years  bring 

forth, 
Of  our  galley  swamped  and  shattered  in  the  rollers  of  the 

North. 
When  the  niggers  break  the  hatches  and  the  decks  are  gay 

with  gore, 
And  a  craven-hearted  pilot  crams  her  crashing  on  the  shore, 

She  will  need  no  half-mast  signal,  minute-gun,  or  rocket- 
flare, 

When  the  cry  for  help  goes  seaward,  she  will  find  her  servants 
there. 


86  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Battered  chain-gangs  of  the  orlop,  grizzled  drafts  of  years 
gone  by, 

To  the  bench  that  broke  their  manhood,  they  shall  lash  them- 
selves and  die. 

Hale  and  crippled,  young  and  aged,  paid,  deserted,  shipped 

away — 

Palace,  cot,  and  lazaretto  shall  make  up  the  tale  that  day, 
When  the  skies  are  black  above  them,  and  the  decks  ablaze 

beneath, 
And  the  top-men  clear  the  raffle  with  their  clasp-knives  in 

their  teeth. 

It  may  be  that  Fate  will  give  me  life  and  leave  to  row  once 

more — 
Set  some  strong  man  free  for  fighting  as  I  take  awhile  his 

oar. 

But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley.     Shall  I  curse  her  service  then? 
God  be  thanked!     Whate'er  comes  after,  I  have  lived  and 

toiled  with  Men! 


A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES 

AXT'HERE  the  sober-coloured  cultivator  smiles 

On  his  byles; 
Where  the  cholera,  the  cyclone,  and  the  crow 

Come  and  go; 
Where  the  merchant  deals  in  indigo  and  tea, 

Hides  and  ghi; 
Where  the  Babu  drops  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints; 
Stands  a  City — Charnock  chose  it — packed  away 

Near  a  Bay — 
By  the  sewage  rendered  fetid,  by  the  sewer 

Made  impure, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  87 

By  the  Sunderbunds  unwholesome,  by  the  swamp 

Moist  and  damp; 
And  the  City  and  the  Viceroy,  as  we  see, 

Don't  agree. 


Once,  two  hundred  years  ago,  the  trader  came 

Meek  and  tame. 
Where  his  timid  foot  first  halted,  there  he  stayed, 

Till  mere  trade 
Grew  to  Empire,  and  he  sent  his  armies  forth 

South  and  North, 
Till  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  his  own. 
Thus  the  midday  halt  of  Charnock — more's  the  pity! — 

Grew  a  City. 
As  the  fungus  sprouts  chaotic  from  its  bed, 

So  it  spread — 
Chance-directed,  chance-erected,  laid  and  built 

On  the  silt — 
Palace,  byre,  hovel — poverty  and  pride — 

Side  by  side; 
And,  above  the  packed  and  pestilential  town, 

Death  looked  down. 

But  the  Rulers  in  that  City  by  the  Sea 

Turned  to  flee — 
Fled,  with  each  returning  Spring-tide  from  its  ills 

To  the  Hills. 
From  the  clammy  fogs  of  morning,  from  the  blaze 

Of  the  days, 
From  the  sickness  of  the  noontide,  from  the  heat, 

Beat  retreat; 
For  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  their  own. 
But  the  Merchant  risked  the  perils  of  the  Plain 

For  his  gain. 


88  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Now  the  resting-place  of  Charnock,  'neath  the  palms, 

Asks  an  alms, 
And  the  burden  of  its  lamentation  is, 

Briefly,  this: — 
"Because,  for  certain  months,  we  boil  and  stew, 

"So  should  you. 
"Cast  the  Viceroy  and  his  Council,  to  perspire 

"In  our  fire!" 
And  for  answer  to  the  argument,  in  vain 

We  explain 
That  an  amateur  Saint  Lawrence  cannot  cry: — 

"^//must  fry!" 
That  the  Merchant  risks  the  perils  of  the  Plain 

For  his  gain. 
Nor  can  Rulers  rule  a  house  that  men  grow  rich  in, 

From  its  kitchen. 


Let  the  Babu  drop  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints; 
And  mature — consistent  soul — his  plan  for  stealing 

To  Darjeeling: 
Let  the  Merchant  seek,  who  makes  his  silver  pile, 

England's  isle; 
Let  the  City  Charnock  pitched  on — evil  day! — 

Go  Her  way. 
Though  the  argosies  of  Asia  at  Her  doors 

Heap  their  stores, 
Though  her  enterprise  and  energy  secure 

Income  sure, 
Though  "out-station  orders  punctually  obeyed" 

Swell  Her  trade— 
Still,  for  rule,  administration,  and  the  rest, 

Simla's  best! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  89 

IN  SPRINGTIME 

Jy/fY  GARDEN  blazes  brightly  with  the  rose-bush  and 

the  peach, 

And  the  koil1  sings  above  it,  in  the  siris  by  the  well, 
From  the  creeper-covered  trellis  comes  the  squirrel's  chatter- 
ing speech, 
And  the  blue  jay  screams  and  flutters  where  the  cheery 

sat-bhai2  dwell. 
But  the  rose  has  lost  its  fragrance,  and  the  kail's  note  is 

strange; 
I  am  sick  of  endless  sunshine,  sick  of  blossom-burdened 

bough. 
Give  me  back  the  leafless  woodlands  where  the  winds  of 

Springtime  range — 

Give  me  back  one  day  in  England,  for  it's  Spring  in  Eng- 
land now! 


Through  the  pines  the  gusts  are  booming,  o'er  the  brown  fields 

blowing  chill, 
From  the  furrow  of  the  ploughshare  streams  the  fragrance 

of  the  loam, 
And  the  hawk  nests  on  the  cliffside  and  the  jackdaw  in  the 

hill, 
And  my  heart  is  back  in  England  'mid  the  sights  and 

sounds  of  Home. 
But  the  garland  of  the  sacrifice  this  wealth  of  rose  and  peach 

is. 

Ah!  koi/y  iittle  koit,  singing  on  the  siris  bough, 
In  my  ears  the  knell  of  exile  your  ceaseless  bell  like  speech 

is — 

Can  you  tell  me  aught  of  England  or  of  Spring  in  England 
now? 

'The  Indian  bell-bird.         *  Indian  starlings. 


90  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


GIFFEN'S  DEBT 

[IMPRIMIS  he  was  "broke."     Thereafter  left 

His  Regiment  and,  later,  took  to  drink; 
Then,  having  lost  the  balance  of  his  friends, 
"Went  Fan  tee" — joined  the  people  of  the  land, 
Turned  three  parts  Mussulman  and  one  Hindu, 
And  lived  among  the  Gauri  villagers, 
Who  gave  him  shelter  and  a  wife  or  twain, 
And  boasted  that  a  thorough,  full-blood  sahib 
Had  come  among  them.     Thus  he  spent  his  time, 
Deeply  indebted  to  the  village  shroff1 
(Who  never  asked  for  payment),  always  drunk, 
Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels; 
Forgetting  that  he  was  an  Englishman. 

You  know  they  dammed  the  Gauri  with  a  dam, 

And  all  the  good  contractors  scamped  their  work 

And  all  the  bad  material  at  hand 

Was  used  to  dam  the  Gauri — which  was  cheap, 

And,  therefore,  proper.     Then  the  Gauri  burst, 

And  several  hundred  thousand  cubic  tons 

Of  water  dropped  into  the  valley,  flop, 

And  drowned  some  five-and-twenty  villagers, 

And  did  a  lakh  or  two  of  detriment 

To  crops  and  cattle.     When  the  flood  went  down 

We  found  him  dead,  beneath  an  old  dead  horse, 

Full  six  miles  down  the  valley.     So  we  said 

He  was  a  victim  to  the  Demon  Drink, 

And  moralised  upon  him  for  a  week, 

And  then  forgot  him.     Which  was  natural. 

But,  in  the  valley  of  the  Gauri,  men 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  big  new  dam, 
Relate  a  foolish  legend  of  the  flood, 
'Money-lender. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  91 

Accounting  for  the  little  loss  of  life 

(Only  those  five-and-twenty  villagers) 

In  this  wise: — On  the  evening  of  the  flood, 

They  heard  the  groaning  of  the  rotten  dam, 

And  voices  of  the  Mountain  Devils.     Then 

An  incarnation  of  the  local  God, 

Mounted  upon  a  monster-neighing  horse, 

And  flourishing  a  flail-like  whip,  came  down, 

Breathing  ambrosia,  to  the  villages, 

And  fell  upon  the  simple  villagers 

With  yells  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  throat, 

And  blows  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  hand, 

And  smote  them  with  his  flail-like  whip,  and  drove 

Them  clamorous  with  terror  up  the  hill, 

And  scattered,  with  the  monster-neighing  steed, 

Their  crazy  cottages  about  their  ears, 

And  generally  cleared  those  villages. 

Then  came  the  water,  and  the  local  God, 

Breathing  ambrosia,  flourishing  his  whip, 

And  mounted  on  his  monster-neighing  steed, 

Went  down  the  valley  with  the  flying  trees 

And  residue  of  homesteads,  while  they  watched 

Safe  on  the  mountain-side  these  wondrous  things, 

And  knew  that  they  were  much  beloved  of  Heaven. 

Wherefore,  and  when  the  dam  was  newly  built, 

They  raised  a  temple  to  the  local  God, 

And  burnt  all  manner  of  unsavoury  things 

Upon  his  altar,  and  created  priests, 

And  blew  into  a  conch  and  banged  a  bell, 

And  told  the  story  of  the  Gauri  flood 

With  circumstance  and  much  embroidery.     .     .     . 

So  he,  the  whiskified  Objectionable, 

Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels, 

Became  the  tutelary  Deity 

Of  all  the  Gauri  valley  villages, 

And  may  in  time  become  a  Solar  Myth. 


92  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

TWO  MONTHS 

JUNE 

HOPE,  no  change!    The  clouds  have  shut  us  in, 
And  through  the  cloud  the  sullen  Sun  strikes  down 
Full  on  the  bosom  of  the  tortured  Town, 
Till  Night  falls  heavy  as  remembered  sin 
That  will  not  suffer  sleep  or  thought  of  ease, 
And,  hour  on  hour,  the  dry-eyed  Moon  in  spite 
Glares  through  the  haze  and  mocks  with  watery  light 
The  torment  of  the  uncomplaining  trees. 
Far  off,  the  Thunder  bellows  her  despair 
To  echoing  Earth,  thrice  parched.     The  lightnings  fly 
In  vain.     No  help  the  heaped-up  clouds  afford, 
But  wearier  weight  of  burdened,  burning  air. 
What  truce  with  Dawn?     Look,  from  the  aching  sky, 
Day  stalks,  a  tyrant  with  a  flaming  sword! 

SEPTEMBER 

^T  DAWN  there  was  a  murmur  in  the  trees, 
A  ripple  on  the  tank,  and  in  the  air 

Presage  of  coming  coolness — everywhere 
A  voice  of  prophecy  upon  the  breeze. 
Up  leapt  the  Sun  and  smote  the  dust  to  gold, 

And  strove  to  parch  anew  the  heedless  land, 
All  impotently,  as  a  King  grown  old 

Wars  for  the  Empire  crumbling  'neath  his  hand. 

One  after  one  the  lotos-petals  fell, 

Beneath  the  onslaught  of  the  rebel  year, 

In  mutiny  against  a  furious  sky; 

And  far-off  Winter  whispered: — "It  is  well! 

"Hot  Summer  dies.     Behold  your  help  is  near, 

"For  when  men's  need  is  sorest,  then  come  I." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  93, 

L'ENVOI 

(Departmental  Ditties) 

APHE  smoke  upon  your  Altar  dies, 

The  flowers  decay, 
The  Goddess  of  your  sacrifice 

Has  flown  away. 
What  profit  then  to  sing  or  slay 
The  sacrifice  from  day  to  day? 


'We  know  the  Shrine  is  void,"  they  said, 

"The  Goddess  flown — 
"Yet  wreaths  are  on  the  altar  laid — 

"The  Altar-Stone 
"Is  black  with  fumes  of  sacrifice, 
"Albeit  She  has  fled  our  eyes. 


"For,  it  may  be,  if  still  we  sing 

"And  tend  the  Shrine, 
"Some  Deity  on  wandering  wing 

"May  there  incline; 
"And,  finding  all  in  order  meet, 
"Stay  while  we  worship  at  Her  feet." 


THE  FIRES 

(Prelude  to  Collected  Verse) 

fyJEN  make  them  fires  on  the  hearth 

Each  under  his  roof-tree, 
And  the  Four  Winds  that  rule  the  earth 
They  blow  the  smoke  to  me. 


94  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Across  the  high  hills  and  the  sea 
And  all  the  changeful  skies, 

The  Four  Winds  blow  the  smoke  to  me 
Till  the  tears  are  in  my  eyes. 

Until  the  tears  are  in  my  eyes 
And  my  heart  is  wellnigh  broke 

For  thinking  on  old  memories 
That  gather  in  the  smoke. 

With  every  shift  of  every  wind 
The  homesick  memories  come. 

From  every  quarter  of  mankind 
Where  I  have  made  me  a  home. 

Four  times  afire  against  the  cold 
And  a  roof  against  the  rain — 

Sorrow  fourfold  and  joy  fourfold 
The  Four  Winds  bring  again  ! 

How  can  I  answer  which  is  best 
Of  all  the  fires  that  burn  ? 

I  have  been  too  often  host  or  guest 
At  every  fire  in  turn. 

How  can  I  turn  from  any  fire ', 
On  any  mans  hearthstone  ? 

I  know  the  wonder  and  desire 
That  went  to  build  my  own  ! 

How  can  I  doubt  man's  joy  or  woe 
Where'er  his  house-fires  shiney 

Since  all  that  man  must  undergo 
Will  visit  me  at  mine  ? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  95 

Oh,  you  Four  Winds  that  blow  so  strong 

And  know  that  this  is  true, 
Stoop  for  a  little  and  carry  my  song 
To  all  the  men  1  knew  I 


Where  there  are  fires  against  the  cold, 
Or  roofs  against  the  rain — 

With  love  fourfold  and  joy  fourfold, 
Take  them  my  songs  again! 


DEDICATION  FROM  -BARRACK  ROOM 
BALLADS" 

"DEYOND    the    path  of  the    outmost  sun  through   utter 

darkness  hurled — 

Farther  than  ever  comet  flared  or  vagrant  star-dust  swirled — 
Live  such  as  fought  and  sailed  and  ruled  and  loved  and  made 

our  world. 


They  are  purged  of  pride  because  they  died,  they  know  the 

worth  of  their  bays; 
They  sit  at  wine  with  the  Maidens  Nine  and  the  Gods  of  the 

Elder  Days- 
It  is  their  will  to  serve  or  be  still  as  fitteth  Our  Father's  praise. 


'Tis  theirs  to  sweep  through  the  ringing  deep  where  Azrael's 

outposts  are, 
Or  buffet  a  path  through  the  Pit's  red  wrath  when  God  goes 

out  to  war, 
Or  hang  with  the  reckless  Seraphim  on  the  rein  of  a  red- 

maned  star. 


96  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  take  their  mirth  in  the  jpy  of  the  Earth — they  dare  not 

grieve  for  her  pain. 
They  know  of  toil  and  the  end  of  toil;  they  know  God's  Law 

is  plain; 
So  they  whistle  the  Devil  to  make  them  sport  who  know  that 

Sin  is  vain. 

And  oft-times  cometh  our  wise  Lord  God,  master  of  every 
trade, 

And  tells  them  tales  of  His  daily  toil,  of  Edens  newly  made; 

And  they  rise  to  their  feet  as  He  passes  by,  gentlemen  un- 
afraid. 

To  these  who  are  cleansed  of  base  Desire,  Sorrow  and  Lust 

and  Shame — 
Gods  for  they  knew  the  hearts  of  men,  men  for  they  stooped 

to  Fame — 
Borne  on  the  breath  that  men  call  Death,  my  brother's 

spirit  came. 

He  scarce  had  need  to  doff  his  pride  or  slough  the  dross  of 

Earth- 
E'en  as  he  trod  that  day  to  God  so  walked  he  from  his  birth, 
In  simpleness  and  gentleness  and  honour  and  clean  mirth. 

So  cup  to  lip  in  fellowship  they  gave  him  welcome  high 
And  made  him  place  at  the  banquet  board — the  Strong  Men 

ranged  thereby, 
Who  had  done  his  work  and  held  his  peace  and  had  no  fear 

to  die. 

Beyond  the  loom  of  the  last  lone  star,  through  open  darkness 

hurled, 

Further  than  rebel  comet  dared  or  hiving  star-swarm  swirled, 
Sits  he  with  those  that  praise  our  God  for  that  they  served 

His  world. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  97 

TO  THE  TRUE  ROMANCE 

i  893 

'TTHY face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 

Our  call  and  counter-cry, 
I  shall  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind. 

Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 
Enough  for  me  in  dreams  to  see 

And  touch  Thy  garments'  hem: 
Thy  feet  have  trod  so  near  to  God 

I  may  not  follow  them  ! 

Through  wantonness  if  men  profess 

They  weary  of  Thy  parts, 
E'en  let  them  die  at  blasphemy 

And  perish  with  their  arts; 
But  we  that  love,  but  we  that  prove 

Thine  excellence  august, 
While  we  adore,  discover  more 

Thee  perfect,  wise,  and  just. 

Since  spoken  word  Man's  Spirit  stirred 

Beyond  his  belly-need, 
What  is  is  Thine  of  fair  design 

In  Thought  and  Craft  and  Deed. 
Each  stroke  aright  of  toil  and  fight, 

That  was  and  that  shall  be, 
And  hope  too  high  wherefore  we  die, 

Has  birth  and  worth  in  Thee. 

Who  holds  by  Thee  hath  Heaven  in  fee 

To  gild  his  dross  thereby, 
And  knowledge  sure  that  he  endure 

A  child  until  he  die — 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  to  make  plain  that  man's  disdain 

Is  but  new  Beauty's  birth — 
For  to  possess  in  singleness 

The  joy  of  all  the  earth. 

As  Thou  didst  teach  all  lovers  speech 

And  Life  all  mystery, 
So  shalt  Thou  rule  by  every  school 

Till  life  and  longing  die, 
Who  wast  or  yet  the  Lights  were  set, 

A  whisper  in  the  Void, 
Who  shalt  be  sung  through  planets  young 

When  this  is  clean  destroyed. 

Beyond  the  bounds  our  staring  rounds, 

Across  the  pressing  dark, 
The  children  wise  of  outer  skies 

Look  hitherward  and  mark 
A  light  that  shifts,  a  glare  that  drifts, 

Rekindling  thus  and  thus, 
Not  all  forlorn,  for  Thou  hast  borne 

Strange  tales  to  them  of  us. 

Time  hath  no  tide  but  must  abide 

The  servant  of  Thy  will; 
Tide  hath  no  time,  for  to  Thy  rhyme 

The  ranging  stars  stand  still- 
Regent  of  spheres  that  lock  our  fears 

Our  hopes  invisible, 
Oh  't  was  certes  at  Thy  decrees 

We  fashioned  Heaven  and  Hell  I 

Pure  Wisdom  hath  no  certain  path 

That  lacks  thy  morning-eyne, 
And  Captains  bold  by  Thee  controlled 

Most  like  to  Gods  design. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  99 

Thou  art  the  Voice  to  kingly  boys 

To  lift  them  through  the  fight, 
And  Comfortress  of  Unsuccess, 

To  give  the  Dead  good-night. 

A  veil  to  draw  'twixt  God  His  Law 

And  Man's  infirmity, 
A  shadow  kind  to  dumb  and  blind 

The  shambles  where  we  die; 
A  rule  to  trick  th'  arithmetic, 

Too  base,  of  leaguing  odds — 
The  spur  of  trust,  the  curb  of  lust, 

Thou  handmaid  of  the  Gods! 

O  Charity,  all  patiently 
Abiding  wrack  and  scaith! 

0  Faith,  that  meets  ten  thousand  cheats 
Yet  drops  no  jot  of  faith! 

Devil  and  brute  Thou  dost  transmute 

To  higher,  lordlier  show, 
Who  art  in  sooth  that  lovely  Truth 

The  careless  angels  know! 

Thy  face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 
Our  call  and  counter-cry  , 

1  may  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 
Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 


Yet  may  I  look  with  heart  unshook 

On  blow  brought  home  or  missed- 
Yet  may  I  hear  with  equal  ear 

The  clarions  down  the  List; 
Yet  set  my  lance  above  mischance 

And  ride  the  barriere — 
Oh,  hit  or  miss,  how  little  't  is, 

My  Lady  is  not  there  ! 


ioo  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

SESTINA  OF  THE  TRAMP-ROYAL 

1896 

gPEAKIN'  in  general,  I  'ave  tried  'em  all— 

The  'appy  roads  that  take  you  o'er  the  world. 
Speakin*  in  general,  I  'ave  found  them  good 
For  such  as  cannot  use  one  bed  too  long, 
But  must  get  'ence,  the  same  as  I  'ave  done, 
An'  go  observin'  matters  till  they  die. 

What  do  it  matter  where  or  'ow  we  die, 

So  long  as  we've  our  'ealth  to  watch  it  all — 

The  different  ways  that  different  things  are  done, 

An'  men  an'  women  lovin'  in  this  world; 

Takin'  our  chances  as  they  come  along, 

An'  when  they  ain't,  pretendin'  they  are  good  ? 

In  cash  or  credit — no,  it  aren't  no  good; 
You  'ave  to  'ave  the  'abit  or  you'd  die, 
Unless  you  lived  your  life  but  one  day  long, 
Nor  didn't  prophesy  nor  fret  at  all, 
But  drew  your  tucker  some'ow  from  the  world, 
An'  never  bothered  what  you  might  ha'  done. 

But,  Gawd,  what  things  are  they  I  'aven't  done! 
I've  turned  my  'and  to  most,  an'  turned  it  good, 
In  various  situations  round  the  world — 
For  'im  that  doth  not  work  must  surely  die; 
But  that's  no  reason  man  should  labour  all 
'Is  life  on  one  same  shift — life's  none  so  long. 

Therefore,  from  job  to  job  I've  moved  along. 
Pay  couldn't  'old  me  when  my  time  was  done, 
For  something  in  my  'ead  upset  it  all, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  101 

Till  I  'ad  dropped  whatever  't  was  for  good, 

An',  out  at  sea,  be'eld  the  dock-lights  die, 

An'  met  my  mate — the  wind  that  tramps  the  world! 

It's  like  a  book,  I  think,  this  bloomin'  world, 
Which  you  can  read  and  care  for  just  so  long, 
But  presently  you  feel  that  you  will  die 
Unless  you  get  the  page  you're  readin'  done, 
An'  turn  another — likely  not  so  good; 
But  what  you're  after  is  to  turn  'em  all. 

Gawd  bless  this  world !     Whatever  she  'ath  done — 
Excep'  when  awful  long — I've  found  it  good. 
So  write,  before  I  die,  "'E  liked  it  all!" 


THE  MIRACLES 

1894 

T  SENT  a  message  to  my  dear — 

A  thousand  leagues  and  more  to  Her — 
The  dumb  sea-levels  thrilled  to  hear, 
And  Lost  Atlantis  bore  to  Her! 

Behind  my  message  hard  I  came, 
And  nigh  had  found  a  grave  for  me; 

But  that  I  launched  of  steel  and  flame 
Did  war  against  the  wave  for  me. 

Uprose  the  deep,  in  gale  on  gale, 
To  bid  me  change  my  mind  again — 

He  broke  his  teeth  along  my  rail, 
And,  roaring,  swung  behind  again. 


102  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I  stayed  the  sun  at  noon  to  tell 
My  way  across  the  waste  of  it; 

I  read  the  storm  before  it  fell 
And  made  the  better  haste  of  it. 


Afar,  I  hailed  the  land  at  night — 

The  towers  I  built  had  heard  of  me — 

And,  ere  my  rocket  reached  its  height, 
Had  flashed  my  Love  the  word  of  me. 


Earth  sold  her  chosen  men  of  strength 
(They  lived  and  strove  and  died  for  me; 

To  drive  my  road  a  nation's  length, 
And  toss  the  miles  aside  for  me. 


I  snatched  their  toil  to  serve  my  needs — 
Too  slow  their  fleetest  flew  for  me. 

I  tired  twenty  smoking  steeds, 
And  bade  them  bait  a  new  for  me. 


I  sent  the  Lightnings  forth  to  see 
Where  hour  by  hour  She  waited  me. 

Among  ten  million  one  was  She, 
And  surely  all  men  hated  me! 


Dawn  ran  to  meet  me  at  my  goal — 
Ah,  day  no  tongue  shall  tell  again! 

And  little  folk  of  little  soul 
Rose  up  to  buy  and  sell  again ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  103 

SONG  OF  THE  WISE  CHILDREN 

1902 

the  darkened  Fifties  dip  to  the  North, 
And  frost  and  the  fog  divide  the  air, 
And  the  day  is  dead  at  his  breaking-forth, 
Sirs,  it  is  bitter  beneath  the  Bear! 

Far  to  Southward  they  wheel  and  glance, 

The  million  molten  spears  of  morn — 
The  spears  of  our  deliverance 

That  shine  on  the  house  where  we  were  born. 


Flying-fish  about  our  bows, 

Flying  sea-fires  in  our  wake: 
This  is  the  road  to  our  Father's  House, 

Whither  we  go  for  our  souls'  sake! 

We  have  forfeited  our  birthright, 

We  have  forsaken  all  things  meet; 
We  have  forgotten  the  look  of  light, 

We  have  forgotten  the  scent  of  heat. 

They  that  walk  with  shaded  brows, 

Year  by  year  in  a  shining  land, 
They  be  men  of  our  Father's  House, 

They  shall  receive  us  and  understand. 

We  shall  go  back  by  the  boltless  doors, 

To  the  life  unaltered  our  childhood  knew — 

To  the  naked  feet  on  the  cool,  dark  floors, 

And  the  high-ceiled  rooms  that  the  Trade  blows  through: 


io4  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

To  the  trumpet-flowers  and  the  moon  beyond, 
And  the  tree-toad's  chorus  drowning  all — 

And  the  lisp  of  the  split  banana-frond 

That  talked  us  to  sleep  when  we  were  small. 

The  wayside  magic,  the  threshold  spells, 
Shall  soon  undo  what  the  North  has  done — 

Because  of  the  sights  and  the  sounds  and  the  smells 
That  ran  with  our  youth  in  the  eye  of  the  -sun. 

And  Earth  accepting  shall  ask  no  vows, 

Nor  the  Sea  our  love,  nor  our  lover  the  Sky. 

When  we  return  to  our  Father's  House 
Only  the  English  shall  wonder  why! 


ZION 

1914-18 

Doorkeepers  of  Zion, 
They  do  not  always  stand 

In  helmet  and  whole  armour, 

With  halberds  in  their  hand; 
But,  being  sure  of  Zion, 

And  all  her  mysteries, 
They  rest  awhile  in  Zion, 
Sit  down  and  smile  in  Zion; 
Ay,  even  jest  in  Zion; 

In  Zion,  at  their  ease. 

The  Gatekeepers  of  Baal, 
They  dare  not  sit  or  lean, 

But  fume  and  fret  and  posture 
And  foam  and  curse  between; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  105 

For  being  bound  to  Baal, 

Whose  sacrifice  is  vain, 
Their  rest  is  scant  with  Baal, 
They  glare  and  pant  for  Baal, 
They  mouth  and  rant  for  Baal, 

For  Baal  in  their  pain! 

But  we  will  go  to  Zion, 

By  choice  and  not  through  dread, 
With  these  our  present  comrades 

And  those  our  present  dead; 
And,  being  free  of  Zion 

In  both  her  fellowships, 
Sit  down  and  sup  in  Zion — 
Stand  up  and  drink  in  Zion 
Whatever  cup  in  Zion 

Is  offered  to  our  lips! 


BUDDHA  AT  KAMAKURA 

1892 

"And  there  is  a  Japanese  idol  at  Kamakura" 

f~\  YE  who  tread  the  Narrow  Way 

By  Tophet-flare  to  Judgment  Day, 
Be  gentle  when  "the  heathen"  pray 
To  Buddha  at  Kamakura! 

To  him  the  Way,  the  Law,  apart, 
Whom  Maya  held  beneath  her  heart, 
Ananda's  Lord,  the  Bodhisat, 
The  Buddha  of  Kamakura. 


io6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  though  he  neither  burns  nor  sees, 
Nor  hears  ye  thank  your  Deities, 
Ye  have  not  sinned  with  such  as  these, 
His  children  at  Kamakura, 

Yet  spare  us  still  the  Western  joke 
When  joss-sticks  turn  to  scented  smoke 
The  little  sins  of  little  folk 
That  worship  at  Kamakura — 

The  grey-robed,  gay-sashed  butterflies 
That  flit  beneath  the  Master's  eyes. 
He  is  beyond  the  Mysteries 
But  loves  them  at  Kamakura. 


And  whoso  will,  from  Pride  released, 
Contemning  neither  creed  nor  priest, 
May  feel  the  Soul  of  all  the  East 
About  him  at  Kamakura. 

Yea,  every  tale  Ananda  heard, 
Of  birth  as  fish  or  beast  or  bird, 
While  yet  in  lives  the  Master  stirred, 
The  warm  wind  brings  Kamakura. 

Till  drowsy  eyelids  seem  to  see 

A-flower  'neath  her  golden  htee 

The  Shwe-Dagon  flare  easterly 

From  Burmah  to  Kamakura, 

And  down  the  loaded  air  there  comes 
The  thunder  of  Thibetan  drums, 
And  droned — "Om  mane  padme  hums1 
A  world's-width  from  Kamakura. 
'The  Buddhist  invocation. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  107 

Yet  Brahmans  rule  Benares  still, 

Buddh-Gaya's  ruins  pit  the  hill, 

And  beef-fed  zealots  threaten  ill 

To  Buddha  and  Kamakura. 

A  tourist-show,  a  legend  told, 
A  rusting  bulk  of  bronze  and  gold, 
So  much,  and  scarce  so  much,  ye  hold 
The  meaning  of  Kamakura? 

But  when  the  morning  prayer  is  prayed, 
Think,  ere  ye  pass  to  strife  and  trade, 
Is  God  in  human  image  made 
No  nearer  than  Kamakura? 


THE  GREEK  NATIONAL  ANTHEM 


KNEW  thee  of  old, 
Oh  divinely  restored, 
By  the  light  of  thine  eyes 
And  the  light  of  thy  Sword. 

From  the  graves  of  our  slain 
Shall  thy  valour  prevail 

As  we  greet  thee  again — 
Hail,  Liberty!    Hail! 

Long  time  didst  thou  dwell 
Mid  the  peoples  that  mourn, 

Awaiting  some  voice 

That  should  bid  thee  return. 


io8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Ah,  slow  broke  that  day 
And  no  man  dared  call, 

For  the  shadow  of  tyranny 
Lay  over  all: 

And  we  saw  thee  sad-eyed, 
The  tears  on  thy  cheeks 

While  thy  raiment  was  dyed 
In  the  blood  of  the  Greeks. 

Yet,  behold  now  thy  sons 
With  impetuous  breath 

Go  forth  to  the  fight 

Seeking  Freedom  or  Death. 


From  the  graves  of  our  slain 
Shall  thy  valour  prevail 

As  we  greet  thee  again 
Hail,  Liberty!    Hail! 


THE  SEA-WIFE 

i  893 

'pHERE  dwells  a  wife  by  the  Northern  Gate, 

And  a  wealthy  wife  is  she; 
She  breeds  a  breed  o'  rovin'  men 
And  casts  them  over  sea. 

And  some  are  drowned  in  deep  water, 

And  some  in  sight  o'  shore, 
And  word  goes  back  to  the  weary  wife 

And  ever  she  sends  more. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  109 

For  since  that  wife  had  gate  or  gear, 

Or  hearth  or  garth  or  field, 
She  willed  her  sons  to  the  white  harvest, 

And  that  is  a  bitter  yield. 

She  wills  her  sons  to  the  wet  ploughing, 

To  ride  the  horse  of  tree; 
And  syne  her  sons  come  back  again 

Far-spent  from  out  the  sea. 


The  good  wife's  sons  come  home  again 

With  little  into  their  hands, 
But  the  lore  of  men  that  have  dealt  with  men 

In  the  new  and  naked  lands; 

But  the  faith  of  men  that  have  brothered  men 

By  more  than  easy  breath, 
And  the  eyes  o'  men  that  have  read  with  men 

In  the  open  books  of  Death. 

Rich  are  they,  rich  in  wonders  seen, 

But  poor  in  the  goods  o'  men; 
So  what  they  have  got  by  the  skin  of  their  teeth 

They  sell  for  their  teeth  again. 

And  whether  they  lose  to  the  naked  life 

Or  win  to  their  hearts'  desire, 
They  tell  it  all  to  the  weary  wife 

That  nods  beside  the  fire. 


Her  hearth  is  wide  to  every  wind 
That  makes  the  white  ash  spin; 

And  tide  and  tide  and  'tween  the  tides 
Her  sons  go  out  and  in; 


no  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

(Out  with  great  mirth  that  do  desire 

Hazard  of  trackless  ways — 
In  with  content  to  wait  their  watch 

And  warm  before  the  blaze) ; 

And  some  return  by  failing  light, 

And  some  in  waking  dream, 
For  she  hears  the  heels  of  the  dripping  ghosts 

That  ride  the  rough  roof-beam. 

Home,  they  come  home  from  all  the  ports, 

The  living  and  the  dead; 
The  good  wife's  sons  come  home  again 

For  her  blessing  on  their  head! 


THE  BROKEN  MEN 
1902 

TpOR  things  we  never  mention, 

For  Art  misunderstood — 
For  excellent  intention 

That  did  not  turn  to  good; 
From  ancient  tales'  renewing, 

From  clouds  we  would  not  clear- 
Beyond  the  Law's  pursuing 

We  fled,  and  settled  here. 

We  took  no  tearful  leaving, 

We  bade  no  long  good-byes; 
Men  talked  of  crime  and  thieving, 

Men  wrote  of  fraud  and  lies. 
To  save  our  injured  feelings 

'T  was  time  and  time  to  go — 
Behind  was  dock  and  Dartmoor, 

Ahead  lay  Callao! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  in 

The  widow  and  the  orphan 

That  pray  for  ten  per  cent, 
They  clapped  their  trailers  on  us 

To  spy  the  road  we  went. 
They  watched  the  foreign  sailings 

(They  scan  the  shipping  still), 
And  that's  your  Christian  people 

Returning  good  for  ill! 


God  bless  the  thoughtful  islands 

Where  never  warrants  come; 
God  bless  the  just  Republics 

That  give  a  man  a  home, 
That  ask  no  foolish  questions, 

But  set  him  on  his  feet; 
And  save  his  wife  and  daughters 

From  the  workhouse  and  the  street! 


On  church  and  square  and  market 

The  noonday  silence  falls; 
You'll  hear  the  drowsy  mutter 

Of  the  fountain  in  our  halls. 
Asleep  amid  the  yuccas 

The  city  takes  her  ease — 
Till  twilight  brings  the  land-wind 

To  the  clicking  jalousies. 

Day  long  the  diamond  weather, 

The  high,  unaltered  blue — 
The  smell  of  goats  and  incense 

And  the  mule-bells  tinkling  through. 
Day  long  the  warder  ocean 

That  keeps  us  from  our  kin, 
And  once  a  month  our  levee 

When  the  English  mail  comes  in. 


ii2  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

You'll  find  us  up  and  waiting 

To  treat  you  at  the  bar; 
You'll  find  us  less  exclusive 

Than  the  average  English  are. 
We'll  meet  you  with  a  carriage, 

Too  glad  to  show  you  round, 
But — we  do  not  lunch  on  steamers, 

For  they  are  English  ground. 

We  sail  o'  nights  to  England 

And  join  our  smiling  Boards — 
Our  wives  go  in  with  Viscounts 

And  our  daughters  dance  with  Lords, 
But  behind  our  princely  doings, 

And  behind  each  coup  we  make, 
We  feel  there's  Something  Waiting, 

And — we  meet  It  when  we  wake. 

Ah  God !    One  sniff  of  England — 

To  greet  our  flesh  and  blood — 
To  hear  the  traffic  slurring 

Once  more  through  London  mud! 
Our  towns  of  wasted  honour — 

Our  streets  of  lost  delight! 
How  stands  the  old  Lord  Warden? 

Are  Dover's  cliffs  still  white? 


GETHSEMANE 

1914-18 

*^pHE  Garden  called  Gethsemane 

In  Picardy  it  was, 
And  there  the  people  came  to  see 
The  English  soldiers  pass. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  113 

We  used  to  pass — we  used  to  pass 

Or  halt,  as  it  might  be, 
And  ship  our  masks  in  case  of  gas 

Beyond  Gethsemane. 

The  Garden  called  Gethsemane, 

It  held  a  pretty  lass, 
But  all  the  time  she  talked  to  me 

I  prayed  my  cup  might  pass. 
The  officer  sat  on  the  chair, 

The  men  lay  on  the  grass, 
And  all  the  time  we  halted  there 

I  prayed  my  cup  might  pass. 

It  didn't  pass — it  didn't  pass — 

It  didn't  pass  from  me. 
I  drank  it  when  we  met  the  gas 

Beyond  Gethsemane. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BANJO 

1894 

"VTOU  couldn't  pack  a  Broadwood  half  a  mile —    . 

You  mustn't  leave  a  fiddle  in  the  damp — 
You  couldn't  raft  an  organ  up  the  Nile, 
And  play  it  in  an  Equatorial  swamp. 
/  travel  with  the  cooking-pots  and  pails — 
I'm  sandwiched  'tween  the  coffee  and  the  pork — 
And  when  the  dusty  column  checks  and  tails, 

You  should  hear  me  spur  the  rearguard  to  a  walk! 

With  my  "  Pilly-willy-winky-winky-popp  /" 
[Oh,  it's  any  tune  that  comes  into  my  head !] 

So  I  keep  'em  moving  forward  till  they  drop; 
So  I  play  'em  up  to  water  and  to  bed. 


n4  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

In  the  silence  of  the  camp  before  the  fight, 

When  it's  good  to  make  your  will  and  say  your  prayer, 
You  can  hear  my  strumpty-tumpty  overnight, 

Explaining  ten  to  one  was  always  fair. 
I'm  the  Prophet  of  the  Utterly  Absurd, 

Of  the  Patently  Impossible  and  Vain — 
And  when  the  Thing  that  Couldn't  has  occurred, 

Give  me  time  to  change  my  leg  and  go  again. 


With  my  "  Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tump  !" 

In  the  desert  where  the  dung-fed  camp-smoke  curled. 

There  was  never  voice  before  us  till  I  led  our  lonely 

chorus, 
I — the  war-drum  of  the  White  Man  round  the  world! 


By  the  bitter  road  the  Younger  Son  must  tread, 

Ere  he  win  to  hearth  and  saddle  of  his  own, — 
'Mid  the  riot  of  the  shearers  at  the  shed, 

In  the  silence  of  the  herder's  hut  alone — 
In  the  twilight,  on  a  bucket  upside  down, 

Hear  me  babble  what  the  weakest  won't  confess — 
I  am  Memory  and  Torment — I  am  Town! 

I  am  all  that  ever  went  with  evening  dress! 

With  my  "  Tunka-tunka-tunka-tunka-tunk  /" 

[So  the  lights — the  London  Lights — grow  near  and 
plain !] 

So  I  rowel  'em  afresh  towards  the  Devil  and  the  Flesh, 
Till  I  bring  my  broken  rankers  home  again. 


In  desire  of  many  marvels  over  sea, 

Where  the  new-raised  tropic  city  sweats  and  roars, 
I  have  sailed  with  Young  Ulysses  from  the  quay 

Till  the  anchor  rumbled  down  on  stranger  shores. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  115 

He  is  blooded  to  the  open  and  the  sky, 

He  is  taken  in  a  snare  that  shall  not  fail, 
He  shall  hear  me  singing  strongly,  till  he  die, 

Like  the  shouting  of  a  backstay  in  a  gale. 


With  my  "Hya!  Heeya  !  Heeya  !  Hullah  !  Haul  T 
[Oh  the  green  that  thunders  aft  along  the  deck!] 

Are  you  sick  o'  towns  and  men?     You  must  sign  and 

sail  again, 
For  it's  "Johnny  Bowlegs,  pack  your  kit  and  trek!" 


Through  the  gorge  that  gives  the  stars  at  noon-day  clear 

Up  the  pass  that  packs  the  scud  beneath  our  wheel — 
Round  the  bluff  that  sinks  her  thousand  fathom  sheer — 

Down  the  valley  with  our  guttering  brakes  asqueal: 
Where  the  trestle  groans  and  quivers  in  the  snow, 

Where  the  many-shedded  levels  loop  and  twine. 
Hear  me  lead  my  reckless  children  from  below 

Till  we  sing  the  Song  of  Roland  to  the  pine! 


With  my  "  Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink  /" 

[Oh  the  axe  has  cleared  the  mountain,  croup  and  crest!] 
And  we  ride  the  iron  stallions  down  to  drink, 

Through  the  canons  to  the  waters  of  the  West! 


And  the  tunes  that  mean  so  much  to  you  alone — 

Common  tunes  that  make  you  choke  and  blow  your  nose, 
Vulgar  tunes  that  bring  the  laugh  that  brings  the  groan — 

I  can  rip  your  very  heartstrings  out  with  those; 
With  the  feasting,  and  the  folly,  and  the  fun--- 

And  the  lying,  and  the  lusting,  and  the  drink, 
And  the  merry  play  that  drops  you,  when  you're  done, 

To  the  thoughts  that  burn  like  irons  if  you  think. 


ii6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

With  my  "  Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk  !" 
Here's  a  trifle  on  account  of  pleasure  past, 

Ere  the  wit  that  made  you  win  gives  you  eyes  to  see  your 

sin 
And — the  heavier  repentance  at  the  last! 

Let  the  organ  moan  her  sorrow  to  the  roof — 

I  have  told  the  naked  stars  the  Grief  of  Man ! 
Let  the  trumpet  snare  the  foeman  to  the  proof — 

I  have  known  Defeat,  and  mocked  it  as  we  ran! 
My  bray  ye  may  not  alter  nor  mistake 

When  I  stand  to  jeer  the  fatted  Soul  of  Things, 
But  the  Song  of  Lost  Endeavour  that  I  make, 

Is  it  hidden  in  the  twanging  of  the  strings? 

With  my  "  Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp  !" 

[Is  it  naught  to  you  that  hear  and  pass  me  by?] 

But  the  word — the  word  is  mine,  when  the  order  moves 

the  line 
And  the  lean,  locked  ranks  go  roaring  down  to  die! 

The  grandam  of  my  grandam  was  the  Lyre — 

[O  the  blue  below  the  little  fisher-huts!] 
That  the  Stealer  stooping  beachward  filled  with  fire, 

Till  she  bore  my  iron  head  and  ringing  guts! 
By  the  wisdom  of  the  centuries  I  speak — 

To  the  tune  of  yestermorn  I  set  the  truth — 
I,  the  joy  of  life  unquestioned — I,  the  Greek — 

I,  the  everlasting  Wonder-song  of  Youth ! 


With  my  "  Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink  /" 

[What  d'  ye  lack,  my  noble  masters?     What  d'ye 

lack?] 
So  I  draw  the  world  together  link  by  link: 

Yea,  from  Delos  up  to  Limerick  and  back! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  117 

THE  SPIES'  MARCH 

1913 

("The  outbreak  is  in  full  swing  and  our  death-rate  would  sicken  Napoleon. 

.     .     .     Dr.  M died  last  week,  and  C on  Monday,  but  some  more 

medicines  are  coming.  .  .  .  We  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  check  it  at 
all.  .  .  .  Villages  panicking  badly.  ...  In  some  places  not  a  liv- 
ing soul.  .  .  .  But  at  any  rate  the  experience  gained  may  come  in 
useful,  so  I  am  keeping  my  notes  written  up  to  date  in  case  of  accidents. 
.  .  .  Death  is  a  queer  chap  to  live  with  for  steady  company." — Extract 
from  a  private  letter  from  Manchuria.) 

RE  are  no  leaders  to  lead  us  to  honour,  and  yet  with- 
out leaders  we  sally, 

Each  man  reporting  for  duty  alone,  out  of  sight,  out  of 
reach,  of  his  fellow. 

There  are  no  bugles  to  call  the  battalions,  and  yet  without 
bugle  we  rally 

From  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  follow 
the  Standard  of  Yellow! 

Fall  in  !     Of  all  in  !     Of  all  in  ! 

Not  where  the  squadrons  mass, 

Not  where  the  bayonets  shine, 
Not  where  the  big  shell  shout  as  they  pass 

Over  the  firing-line; 
Not  where  the  wounded  are, 

Not  where  the  nations  die, 
Killed  in  the  cleanly  game  of  war — 

That  is  no  place  for  a  spy! 
O  Princes,  Thrones  and  Powers,  your  work  is  less  than  ours — 

Here  is  no  place  for  a  spy! 

Trained  to  another  use, 

We  march  with  colours  furled, 
Only  concerned  when  Death  breaks  loose 

On  a  front  of  half  a  world. 


n8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Only  for  General  Death 

The  Yellow  Flag  may  fly, 
While  we  take  post  beneath — 

That  is  the  place  for  a  spy. 
Where   Plague   has  spread   his  pinions  over  Nations   and 

Dominions — 
Then  will  be  work  for  a  spy! 

The  dropping  shots  begin, 

The  single  funerals  pass, 
Our  skirmishers  run  in, 

The  corpses  dot  the  grass! 
The  howling  towns  stampede, 

The  tainted  hamlets  die. 
Now  it  is  war  indeed — 

Now  there  is  room  for  a  spy! 

O  Peoples,   Kings  and  Lands,  we  are  waiting  your  com- 
mands— 
What  is  the  work  for  a  spy? 

(Drums) — Fear  is  upon  us,  spy! 


"Go  where  his  pickets  hide — 

Unmask  the  shape  they  take, 
Whether  a  gnat  from  the  waterside, 

Or  a  stinging  fly  in  the  brake, 
Or  filth  of  the  crowded  street, 

Or  a  sick  rat  limping  by, 
Or  a  smear  of  spittle  dried  in  the  heat — 

That  is  the  work  of  a  spy! 

(Drums) — Death  is  upon  us,  spy  ! 


"What  does  he  next  prepare? 

Whence  will  he  move  to  attack? — 
By  water,  earth  or  air? — 

How  can  we  head  him  back? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  119 

Shall  we  starve  him  out  if  we  burn 

Or  bury  his  food-supply? 
Slip  through  his  lines  and  learn — 

That  is  work  for  a  spy! 

(Drums) — Get  to  your  business,  spy  ! 

"Does  he  feint  or  strike  in  force? 

Will  he  charge  or  ambuscade? 
What  is  it  checks  his  course? 

Is  he  beaten  or  only  delayed? 
How  long  will  the  lull  endure  ? 

Is  he  retreating?     Why? 
Crawl  to  his  camp  and  make  sure — 

That  is  the  work  for  a  spy! 

(Drums) — Fetch  us  our  answer,  spy  ! 

"Ride  with  him  girth  to  girth 

Wherever  the  Pale  Horse  wheels 
Wait  on  his  councils,  ear  to  earth, 

And  say  what  the  dust  reveals. 
For  the  smoke  of  our  torment  rolls 

Where  the  burning  thousands  lie; 
What  do  we  care  for  men's  bodies  or  souls? 

Bring  us  deliverance,  spy!" 


THE  EXPLORER 

1898 

'"THERE'S    no  sense  in   going   further — it's   the   edge  of 

cultivation," 
So  they  said,  and  I  believed  it — broke  my  land  and  sowed 

my  crop) — 
Built  my  barns  and  strung  my  fences  in  the  little  border 

station 

Tucked  away  below  the  foothills  where  the  trails  run  out 
and  stop. 


120  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Till  a  voice,  as  bad  as  Conscience,  rang  interminable  changes 

On  one  everlasting  Whisper  day  and  night  repeated — so: 

"Something  hidden.     Go  and  find  it.     Go  and  look  behind 

the  Ranges — 

"Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges.     Lost  and  waiting  for 
you.     Go!" 


So  I  went,  worn  out  of  patience;  never  told  my  nearest 

neighbours — 
Stole  away  with  pack  and  ponies — left  'em  drinking  in  the 

town; 
And  the  faith  that  moveth  mountains  didn't  seem  to  help  my 

labours 

As  I  faced  the  sheer  main-ranges,  whipping  up  and  leading 
down. 


March  by  march  I  puzzled  through  'em,  turning  flanks  and 

dodging  shoulders, 

Hurried  on  in  hope  of  water,  headed  back  for  lack  of  grass; 
Till  I  camped  above  the  tree-line — drifted  snow  and  naked 

boulders — 

Felt  free  air  astir  to  windward — knew  I'd  stumbled  on  the 
Pass. 


'Thought  to  name  it  for  the  finder:    but  that  night  the 

Norther  found  me — 
Froze  and  killed  the  plains-bred  ponies;  so  I  called  the 

camp  Despair 
(It's  the  Railway  Gap  to-day,  though).     Then  my  Whisper 

waked  to  hound  me: — 

"Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges.     Over  yonder!     Go 
you  there!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  121 

Then  I  knew,  the  while  I  doubted — knew  His  Hand  was 

certain  o'er  me. 
Still — it  might  be  self-delusion — scores  of  better  men  had 

died— 
I  could  reach  the  township  living,  but  .   .   .  He  knows  what 

terror  tore  me  .  .  . 
But  I  didn't .  .  .  but  I  didn't.    I  went  down  the  other  side, 

Till  the  snow  ran  out  in  flowers,  and  the  flowers  turned  to 

aloes, 
And  the  aloes  sprung  to  thickets  and  a  brimming  stream 

ran  by; 
But   the   thickets   dwined   to   thorn-scrub,   and   the   water 

drained  to  shallows, 

And  I  dropped  again  on  desert — blasted  earth,  and  blasting 
sky 

I  remember  lighting  fires;  I  remember  sitting  by  'em; 

I  remember  seeing  faces,  hearing  voices,  through  the  smoke; 
I  remember  they  were  fancy — for  I  threw  a  stone  to  try  'em. 

"Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges"  was  the  only  word 
they  spoke. 

I  remember  going  crazy.     I  remember  that  I  knew  it 
When  I  heard  myself  hallooing  to  the  funny  folk  I  saw. 

'Very  full  of  dreams  that  desert,  but  my  two  legs  took  me 

through  it  ... 
And  I  used  to  watch  'em  moving  with  the  toes  all  black  and 


But  at  last  the  country  altered — White  Man's  country  past 

disputing — 

Rolling  grass  and  open  timber,  with  a  hint  of  hills  behind — 
There  I  found  me  food  and  water,  and  I  lay  a  week  recruiting. 
Got  my  strength  and  lost  my  nightmares.     Then  I  entered 
on  my  find. 


122  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Thence  I  ran  my  first  rough  survey — chose  my  trees  and 

blazed  and  ringed  'em — 
Week  by  week  I  pried  and  sampled — week  by  week  my 

findings  grew. 
Saul  he  went  to  look  for  donkeys,  and  by  God  he  found  a 

kingdom ! 

But  by  God,  who  sent  His  Whisper,  I  had  struck  the  worth 
of  two! 

Up  along  the  hostile  mountains,  where  the  hair-poised  snow- 
slide  shivers — 
Down  and  through  the  big  fat  marshes  that  the  virgin 

ore-bed  stains, 

Till  I  heard  the  mile-wide  mutterings  of  unimagined  rivers, 
And  beyond  the  nameless  timber  saw  illimitable  plains! 

'Plotted  sites  of  future  cities,  traced  the  easy  grades  between 

'em; 
Watched  unharnessed  rapids  wasting  fifty  thousand  head 

an  hour; 
Counted   leagues  of  water-frontage    through    the    axe-ripe 

woods  that  screen  'em — 

Saw  the  plant  to  feed  a  people — up  and  waiting  for  the 
power! 

Well  I  know  who'll  take  the  credit— all  the  clever  chaps  that 

followed — 

Came,  a  dozen  men  together — never  knew  my  desert-fears; 
Tracked  me  by  the  camps  I'd  quitted,  used  the  water-holes 

I'd  hollowed. 

They'll  go  back  and  do  the  talking.     They'll  be  called  the 
Pioneers ! 

They  will  find  my  sites  of  townships — not  the  cities  that  I  set 

there. 

They  will  rediscover  rivers — not  my  rivers  heard  at  night. 
By  my  own  old  marks  and  bearings  they  will  show  me  how  to 

get  there, 
By  the  lonely  cairns  I  builded  they  will  guide  my  feet  aright. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  123 

Have  I  named  one  single  river?     Have  I  claimed  one  single 

acre? 
Have  I  kept  one  single  nugget — (barring  samples)?    No, 

not  I! 

Because  my  price  was  paid  me  ten  times  over  by  my  Maker. 
But  you  wouldn't  understand  it.     You  go  up  and  occupy. 

Ores  you'll  find  there;  wood  and  cattle;  water- transit  sure 

and  steady 
(That  should  keep  the  railway  rates  down),  coal  and  iron 

at  your  doors. 
God  took  care  to  hide  that  country  till  He  judged  His  people 

ready, 

Then  He  chose  me  for  His  Whisper,  and  I've  found  it,  and 
it's  yours! 

Yes,  your  "Never-never  country" — yes,  your  "edge  of  cul- 
tivation" 
And  "no  sense  in  going  further" — till  I  crossed  the  range 

to  see. 
God  forgive  me!     No,  /  didn't.     It's  God's  present  to  our 

nation. 

Anybody  might  have  found  it  but — His  Whisper  came 
to  Me! 

THE  PRO-CONSULS 

'T'HE  overfaithful  sword  returns  the  user 

His  heart's  desire  at  price  of  his  heart's  blood. 
The  clamour  of  the  arrogant  accuser 
Wastes  that  one  hour  we  needed  to  make  good. 
This  was  foretold  of  old  at  our  outgoing; 
This  we  accepted  who  have  squandered,  knowing, 
The  strength  and  glory  of  our  reputations, 
At  the  day's  need,  as  it  were  dross,  to  guard 
The  tender  and  new-dedicate foundations 
Against  the  sea  we  fear — not  man's  award. 


i24  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  that  dig  foundations  deep, 
Fit  for  realms  to  rise  upon, 

Little  honour  do  they  reap 
Of  their  generation, 

Any  more  than  mountains  gain 

Stature  till  we  reach  the  plain. 


With  no  veil  before  their  face 
Such  as  shroud  or  sceptre  lend — 

Daily  in  the  market-place, 
Of  one  height  to  foe  and  friend — 

They  must  cheapen  self  to  find 

Ends  uncheapened  for  mankind. 


Through  the  night  when  hirelings  rest, 

Sleepless  they  arise,  alone, 
The  unsleeping  arch  to  test 

And  the  o'er-trusted  corner-stone, 
'Gainst  the  need,  they  know,  that  lies 
Hid  behind  the  centuries. 


Not  by  lust  of  praise  or  show 
Not  by  Peace  herself  betrayed — 

Peace  herself  must  they  forego 
Till  that  peace  be  fitly  made; 

And  in  single  strength  uphold 

Wearier  hands  and  hearts  acold. 


On  the  stage  their  act  hath  framed 
For  thy  sports,  O  Liberty! 

Doubted  are  they,  and  defamed 
By  the  tongues  their  act  set  free, 

While  they  quicken,  tend  and  raise 

Power  that  must  their  power  displace. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  125 

Lesser  men  feign  greater  goals, 

Failing  whereof  they  may  sit 
Scholarly  to  judge  the  souls 

That  go  down  into  the  pit, 
And,  despite  its  certain  clay, 
Heave  a  new  world  towards  the  day. 


These  at  labour  make  no  sign, 
More  than  planets,  tides  or  years 

Which  discover  God's  design, 
Not  our  hopes  and  not  our  fears; 

Nor  in  aught  they  gain  or  lose 

Seek  a  triumph  or  excuse. 


For,  so  the  Ark  be  borne  to  Zion,  who 
Heeds  how  they  perished  or  were  paid  that  bore  it  ? 
For,  so  the  Shrine  abide,  what  shame — what  pride — 
If  we,  the  priests,  were  bound  or  crowned  before  it  ? 


THE  SEA  AND  THE  HILLS 

1902 

hath   desired   the   Sea? — the  sight  of  salt  water 

unbounded — 
The  heave  and  the  halt  and  the  hurl  and  the  crash  of  the 

comber  wind-hounded? 

The  sleek-barrelled  swell  before  storm,  grey,  foamless,  enor- 
mous, and  growing — 

Stark  calm  on  the  lap  of  the  Line  or  the  crazy-eyed  hurricane 
blowing — 


126  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

His  Sea  in  no  showing  the  same — his  Sea  and  the  same 

'neath  each  showing: 

His  Sea  as  she  slackens  or  thrills? 
So  and  no  otherwise — so  and  no  otherwise — hillmen  desir? 

their  Hills! 

Who  hath  desired  the  Sea? — the  immense  and  contemptuous 
surges  ? 

The  shudder,  the  stumble,  the  swerve,  as  the  star-stabbing 
bowsprit  emerges? 

The  orderly  clouds  of  the  Trades,  the  ridged,  roaring  sap- 
phire thereunder — 

Unheralded  cliff-haunting  flaws  and  the  headsail's  low-vol- 
leying thunder — 

His  Sea  in  no  wonder  the  same — his  Sea  and  the  same  through 
each  wonder: 

His  Sea  as  she  rages  or  stills? 

So  and  no  otherwise — so  and  no  otherwise — hillmen  desire 
their  Hills. 

Who   hath   desired    the   Sea?     Her   menaces   swift   as   her 

mercies  ? 
The  in-rolling  walls  of  the  fog  and  the  silver-winged  breeze 

that  disperses? 
The  unstable  mined  berg  going  South  and  the  calvings  and 

groans  that  declare  it — 
White  water  half-guessed  overside  and  the  moon  breaking 

timely  to  bare  it; 
His  Sea  as  his  fathers  have  dared — his  Sea  as  his  children 

shall  dare  it: 

His  Sea  as  she  serves  him  or  kills? 
So  and  no  otherwise — so  and  no  otherwise — hillmen  desire 

their  Hills. 

Who  hath  desired  the  Sea?     Her  excellent  loneliness  rather 
Than  forecourts  of  kings,  and  her  outermost  pits  than  the 
streets  where  men  gather 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  127 

Inland,  among  dust,  under  trees — inland  where  the  slayer 

may  slay  him — 
Inland,  out  of  reach  of  her  arms,  and  the  bosom  whereon  he 

must  lay  him — 
His  Sea  from  the  first  that  betrayed — at  the  last  that  shall 

never  betray  him: 

His  Sea  that  his  being  fulfils? 
So  and  no  otherwise — so  and  no  otherwise — hillmen  desire 

their  Hills. 


ANCHOR  SONG 
1893 

!     Walk  her  round.     Heave,  ah,   heave    her   short 

again ! 

Over,  snatch  her  over,  there,  and  hold  her  on  the  pawl. 
Loose  all  sail,  and  brace  your  yards  back  and  full — 
Ready  jib  to  pay  her  off  and  heave  short  all! 

Well,  ah,  fare  you  well;  we  can  stay  no  more  with  you,  my 

love — 

Down,  set  down  your  liquor  and  your  girl  from  off  your 
knee; 

For  the  wind  has  come  to  say: 
"You  must  take  me  while  you  may, 
If  you'd  go  to  Mother  Carey 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey!), 

Oh,  we're  bound  to  Mother  Carey  where  she  feeds  her 
chicks  at  sea!" 

Heh!     Walk  her  round.     Break,  ah  break  it  out  o' that! 

Break  our  starboard-bower  out,  apeak,  awash,  and  clear! 
Port — port  she  casts,  with  the  harbour-mud  beneath  her 
foot, 

And  that's  the  last  o'  bottom  we  shall  see  this  year! 


128  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Well,  ah,  fare  vou  well,  for  we've  got  to  take  her  out 

again — 

Take  her  out  in  ballast,  riding  light  and  cargo-free. 
And  it's  time  to  clear  and  quit 


When  the  hawser  grips  the  bitt, 
;'ll  pay  you  with  the  for 


So  we'll  pay  you  with  the  foresheet  and  a  promise  from 
the  sea! 


Heh!     Tally  on.     Aft  and  walk  away  with  her! 

Handsome  to  the  cathead,  now;  O  tally  on  the  fall! 
Stop,  seize  and  fish,  and  easy  on  the  davit-guy. 

Up,  well  up  the  fluke  of  her,  and  inboard  haul! 

Well,  ah,  fare  you  well,  for  the  Channel  wind's  took  hold 

of  us, 

Choking  down  our  voices  as  we  snatch  the  gaskets  free. 
And  it's  blowing  up  for  night, 
And  she's  dropping  light  on  light, 

And  she's  snorting  as  she's  snatching  for  a  breath  of 
open  sea! 

Wheel,  full  and  by;  but  she'll  smell  her  road  alone  to-night. 

Sick  she  is  and  harbour-sick — oh,  sick  to  clear  the  land! 
Roll  down  to  Brest  with  the  old  Red  Ensign  over  us — 

Carry  on  and  thrash  her  out  with  all  she'll  stand! 

Well,  ah,  fare  you  well,  and  it's  Ushant  slams  the  door 

on  us, 

Whirling  like  a  windmill  through  the  dirty  scud  to  lee, 
Till  the  last,  last  flicker  goes 
From  the  tumbling  water-rows, 
And  we're  off  to  Mother  Carey 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey!), 
Oh,  we're  bound  for  Mother  Carey  where  she  feeds  her 
chicks  at  sea! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  129 

RHYME  OF  THE  THREE  SEALERS 

i  893 

dWAY  by  the  lands  of  the  Japanee 

Where  the  paper  lanterns  glow 
And  the  crews  of  all  the  shipping  drink 

In  the  house  of  Blood  Street  Joe, 
At  twilight,  when  the  landward  breew 

Brings  up  the  harbour  noise, 
And  ebb  of  Yokohama  Bay 

Swigs  chattering  through  the  buoys, 
In  Cisco's  Dewdrop  Dining  Rooms 

They  tell  the  tale  anew 
Of  a  hidden  sea  and  a  hidden  fight, 
When  the  Baltic  ran  from  the  Northern  Light 
And  the  Stralsund/0#g^/  the  two. 

Now  this  is  the  Law  of  the  Muscovite,  that  he  proves  with 

shot  and  steel, 
When  you  come  by  his  isles  in  the  Smoky  Sea  you  must  not 

take  the  seal, 
Where  the  grey  sea  goes  nakedly  between  the  weed-hung 

shelves, 
And  the  little  blue  fox  he  is  bred  for  his  skin  and  the  seal  they 

breed  for  themselves. 
For  when  the  matkas1  seek  the  shore  to  drop  their  pups 

aland, 
The  great  man-seal  haul  out  of  the  sea,  aroaring,  band  by 

band. 
And  when  the  first  September  gales  have  slaked  their  rutting- 

wrath, 
The  great  man-seal  haul  back  to  the  sea  and  no  man  knows 

their  path. 

'She-seals. 


130  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  dark  they  lie  and  stark  they  lie — rookery,  dune,  and 

floe, 
And  the  Northern  Lights  come  down  o'  nights  to  dance  with 

the  houseless  snow; 
And  God  Who  clears  the  grounding  berg  and  steers  the 

grinding  floe, 
He  hears  the  cry  of  the  little  kit-fox  and  the  wind  along  the 

snow. 
But  since  our  women  must  walk  gay  and  money  buys  their 

gear, 

The  sealing-boats  they  filch  that  way  at  hazard  year  by  year. 
English  they  be  and  Japanee  that  hang  on  the  Brown  Bear's 

flank, 
And  some  be  Scot,  but  the  worst  of  the  lot,  and  the  boldest 

thieves,  be  Yank! 

It  was  the  sealer  Northern  Light,  to  the  Smoky  Seas  she  bore. 

With  a  stovepipe  stuck  from  a  starboard  port  and  the  Rus- 
sian flag  at  her  fore. 

(Baltic,  Stralsund,  and  Northern  Light — oh!  they  were  birds 
of  a  feather — 

Slipping  away  to  the  Smoky  Seas,  three  seal-thieves  to- 
gether!) 

And  at  last  she  came  to  a  sandy  cove  and  the  Baltic  lay 
therein, 

But  her  men  were  up  with  the  herding  seal  to  drive  and  club 
and  skin. 

There  were  fifteen  hundred  skins  abeach,  cool  pelt  and  proper 
fur, 

\Vhen  the  Northern  Light  drove  into  the  bight  and  the  sea- 
mist  drove  with  her. 

The  Baltic  called  her  men  and  weighed — she  could  not 
choose  but  run — 

For  a  stovepipe  seen  through  the  closing  mist,  it  shows  like  a 
four-inch  gun 

(And  loss  it  is  that  is  sad  as  death  to  lose  both  trip  and  ship 

And  lie  for  a  rotting  contraband  on  Vladivostok  slip). 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  131 

She  turned  and  dived  in  the  sea-smother  as  a  rabbit  dives  in 

the  whins, 
And  the  Northern  Light  sent  up  her  boats  to  steal  the  stolen 

skins. 
They  had  not  brought  a  load  to  side  or  slid  their  hatches 

clear, 
When  they  were  aware  of  a  sloop-of-war,  ghost-white  and 

very  near. 
Her  flag  she  showed,  and  her  guns  she  showed — three  of 

them,  black,  abeam, 
And  a  funnel  white  with  the  crusted  salt,  but  never  a  show  of 

steam. 


There  was  no  time  to.  man  the  brakes,  they  knocked  the 

shackle  free, 
And  the  Northern  Light  stood  out  again,  goose-winged  to 

open  sea. 
(For  life  it  is  that  is  worse  than  death,  by  force  of  Russian 

law 
To  work  in  the  mines  of  mercury  that  loose  the  teeth  in  your 

jaw.) 
They  had  not  run  a  mile  from  shore — they  heard  no  shots 

behind — 
When  the  skipper  smote  his  hand  on  his  thigh  and  threw  her 

up  in  the  wind: 
"Bluffed — raised  out  on  a  bluff,"  said  he,  "for  if  my  name's 

Tom  Hall, 
"You  must  set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief— and  a  thief  has 

caught  us  all! 

"By  every  butt  in  Oregon  and  every  spar  in  Maine, 
"The  hand  that  spilled  the  wind  from  her  sail  was  the  hand 

of  Reuben  Paine ! 
"He  has  rigged  and  trigged  her  with  paint  and  spar,  and, 

faith,  he  has  faked  her  well — 
"But  I'd  know  the  Strahund's  deckhouse  yet  from  here  to 

the  booms  o'  Hell. 


132  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Oh,  once  we  ha'  met  at  Baltimore,  and  twice  on  Boston  pier, 
"But  the  sickest  day  for  you,  Reuben  Paine,  was  the  day 

that  you  came  here — 
"The  day  that  you  came  here,  my  lad,  to  scare  us  from  our 

seal 
"With  your  funnel  made  o'  your  painted  cloth,  and  your 

guns  o'  rotten  deal! 
"Ring  and  blow  for  the  Baltic  now,  and  head  her  back  to  the 

bay, 
"And  we'll  come  into  the  game  again — with  a  double  deck 

to  play!" 


They  rang  and  blew  the  sealers'  call — the  poaching-cry  of 

the  sea — 
And  they  raised  the  Baltic  out  of  the  mist,  and  an  angry  ship 

was  she. 
And  blind  they  groped  through  the  whirling  white  and  blind 

to  the  bay  again, 
Till  they  heard  the  creak  of  the  Stralsund's  boom  and  the 

clank  of  her  mooring  chain. 
They  laid  them  down  by  bitt  and  boat,  their  pistols  in  their 

belts, 
And:  "Will  you  fight  for  it,  Reuben  Paine,  or  will  you  share 

the  pelts?" 


A  dog-toothed  laugh  laughed  Reuben  Paine,  and  bared  his 

flenching-knife. 
"Yea,  skin  for  skin,  and  all  that  he  hath  a  man  will  give  for 

his  life; 

But  I've  six  thousand  skins  below,  and  Yeddo  Port  to  see, 
And  there's  never  a  law  of  God  or  man  runs  north  of  Fifty- 
Three: 

So  go  in  peace  to  the  naked  seas  with  empty  holds  to  fill, 
And  I'll  be  good  to  your  seal  this  catch,  as  many  as  I  shall 
kill!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  133 

Answered  the  snap  of  a  closing  lock — the  jar  of  a  gun-butt 

slid, 
But  the  tender  fog  shut  fold  on  fold  to  hide  the  wrong  they 

did. 
The  weeping  fog  rolled  fold  on  fold  the  wrath  of  man  to 

cloak, 
As  the  flame-spurts  pale  ran  down  the  rail  and  the  sealing- 

rifles  spoke. 

The  bullets  bit  on  bend  and  butt,  the  splinter  slivered  free 
(Little  they  trust  to  sparrow-dust  that  stop  the  seal  in  his 

sea!), 
The  thick  smoke  hung  and  would  not  shift,  leaden  it  lay  and 

blue, 
But  three  were  down  on  the  Baltic's  deck  and  two  of  the 

Stralsund's  crew. 
An  arm's  length  out  and  overside  the  banked  fog  held  them 

bound, 

But,  as  they  heard  or  groan  or  word,  they  fired  at  the  sound. 
For  one  cried  out  on  the  Name  of  God,  and  one  to  have  him 

cease, 
And  the  questing  volley  found  them  both  and  bade  them  hold 

their  peace. 
And  one  called  out  on  a  heathen  joss  and  one  on  the  Virgin's 

Name, 
And  the  schooling  bullet  leaped  across  and  led  them  whence 

they  came. 

And  in  the  waiting  silences  the  rudder  whined  beneath, 
And  each  man  drew  his  watchful  breath  slow-taken  'tween  the 

teeth — 
Trigger  and  ear  and  eye  acock,  knit  brow  and  hard-drawn 

lips — 
Bracing  his  feet  by  chock  and  cleat  for  the  rolling  of  the 

ships. 
Till  they  heard  the  cough  of  a  wounded  man  that  fought  in 

the  fog  for  breath, 
Till  they  heard  the  torment  of  Reuben  Paine  that  wailed 

upon  his  death: 


i34  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"The  tides  they'll  go  through  Fundy  Race,  but  I'll  go  never 

more 
"And  see  the  hogs  from  ebb-tide  mark  turn  scampering  back 

to  shore. 
"No  more  I'll  see  the  trawlers  drift  below  the  Bass  Rock 

ground, 
"Or  watch  the  tall  Fall  steamer  lights  tear  blazing  up  the 

Sound. 

"Sorrow  is  me,  in  a  lonely  sea  and  a  sinful  fight  I  fall, 
"  But  if  there's  law  o'  God  or  man  you'll  swing  for  it  yet,  Tom 

Hall!" 


Tom  Hall  stood  up  by  the  quarter-rail.     "Your  words  in 

your  teeth,"  said  he. 

"There's  never  a  law  of  God  or  man  runs  north  of  Fifty- 
Three. 

"So  go  in  grace  with  Him  to  face,  and  an  ill-spent  life  behind, 
"And  I'll  be  good  to  your  widows,  Rube,  as  many  as  I  shall 

find." 
A  Stralsund  man  shot  blind  and  large,  and  a  warlock  Finn 

was  he, 
And  he  hit  Tom  Hall  with  a  bursting  ball  a  hand's-breadth 

over  the  knee. 
Tom  Hall  caught  hold  by  the  topping-lift,  and  sat  him  down 

with  an  oath, 
"You'll  wait  a  little,  Rube,"  he  said,  "the  Devil  has  called  for 

both. 
"The  Devil  is  driving  both  this  tide,  and  the  killing-grounds 

are  close, 
"And  we'll  go  up  to  the  Wrath  of  God  as  the  holluschickie1 

goes. 

"O  men,  put  back  your  guns  again  and  lay  your  rifles  by, 
"We've  fought  our  fight,  and  the  best  are  down.     Let  up  and 

let  us  die! 

'The  young  seal. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  135 

"Quit  firing,  by  the  bow  there — quit!  Call  off  the  Baltic's 
crew! 

"You're  sure  of  Hell  as  me  or  Rube — but  wait  till  we  get 
through." 

There  went  no  word  between  the  ships,  but  thick  and  quick 
and  loud 

The  life-blood  drummed  on  the  dripping  decks,  with  the  fog- 
dew  from  the  shroud, 

The  sea-pull  drew  them  side  by  side,  gunnel  to  gunnel  laid, 

And  they  felt  the  sheer-strakes  pound  and  clear,  but  never  a 
word  was  said. 

Then  Reuben  Paine  cried  out  again  before  his  spirit  passed: 
"Have  I  followed  the  sea  for  thirty  years  to  die  in  the  dark 

at  last? 
"Curse  on  her  work  that  has  nipped  me  here  with  a  shifty 

trick  unkind — 
"I  have  gotten  my  death  where  I  got  my  bread,  but  I  dare 

not  face  it  blind. 
"Curse  on  the  fog!     Is  there  never  a  wind  of  all  the  winds  I 

knew 
"To  clear  the  smother  from  off  my  chest,  and  let  me  look  at 

the  blue?" 
The  good  fog  heard — like  a  splitten  sail,  to  left  and  right  she 

tore, 
And  they  saw  tne  sun-dogs  in  the  haze  and  the  seal  upon  the 

shore. 

Silver  and  grey  ran  spit  and  bay  to  meet  the  steel-backed  tide, 
And  pinched  and  white  in  the  clearing  light  the  crews  stared 

overside. 
O  rainbow-gay  the  red  pools  lay  that  swilled  and  spilled  and 

spread, 

And  gold,  raw  gold,  the  spent  shell  rolled  between  the  care- 
less dead — 

The  dead  that  rocked  so  drunkenwise  to  weather  and  to  lee, 
And  they  saw  the  work  their  hands  had  done  as  God  had  bade 

them  see! 


136  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  a  little  breeze  blew  over  the  rail  that  made  the  headsails 
lift, 

But  no  man  stood  by  wheel  or  sheet,  and  they  let  the  schoon- 
ers drift. 

And  the  rattle  rose  in  Reuben's  throat  and  he  cast  his  soul 
with  a  cry, 

And  "Gone  already?"  Tom  Hall  he  said.  "Then  it's  time 
for  me  to  die." 

His  eyes  were  heavy  with  great  sleep  and  yearning  for  the 
land, 

And  he  spoke  as  a  man  that  talks  in  dreams,  his  wound  be- 
neath his  hand. 

"Oh,  there  comes  no  good  o'  the  westering  wind  that  backs 

against  the  sun; 
"Wash  down  the  decks — they're  all  too  red — and  share  the 

skins  and  run, 
"Baltic,  Stralsundy  and  Northern  Light — clean  share  and  share 

for  all, 
"You'll  find  the  fleets  off  Tolstoi  Mees,  but  you  will  not  find 

Tom  Hall. 

"Evil  he  did  in  shoal-water  and  blacker  sin  on  the  deep, 
"But  now  he's  sick  of  watch  and  trick  and  now  he'll  turn  and 

sleep. 
"He'll  have  no  more  of  the  crawling  sea  that  made  him  suffer 

so, 
"But  he'll  lie  down  on  the  killing-grounds  where  the  hollu- 

schickie  go. 
"And  west  you'll  sail  and  south  again,  beyond  the  sea-fog's 

rim, 

"And  tell  the  Yoshiwara  girls  to  burn  a  stick  for  him. 
"And  you'll  not  weight  him  by  the  heels  and  dump  him  over- 
side, 

"But  carry  him  up  to  the  sand-hollows  to  die  as  Bering  died, 
"And  make  a  place  for  Reuben  Paine  that  knows  the  fight 

was  fair, 
"And  leave  the  two  that  did  the  wrong  to  talk  it  over  there!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  137 

Half -steam  ahead  by  guess  and  lead,  for  the  sun  is  mostly  veiled — 
Through  fog  to  fog,  by  luck  and  log,  sail  you  as  Bering  sailed; 
And  if  the  light  shall  lift  aright  to  give  your  landfall  plain, 
North  and  by  west,  from  Zapne  Crest  you  raise  the  Crosses 

Twain. 

Fair  marks  are  they  to  the  inner  bay,  the  reckless  poacher  knows, 
What  time  the  scarred  see-catchie1  lead  their  sleek  seraglios. 
Ever  they  hear  the  floe-pack  clear,  and  the  blast  of  the  old  bull- 
whale, 

And  the  deep  seal-roar  that  beats  off-shore  above  the  loudest  gale. 
Ever  they  wait  the  winter's  hate  as  the  thundering  boorga2  calls, 
Where  northward  look  they  to  St.  George,  and  westward  to  St. 

Paul's. 

Ever  they  greet  the  hunted  fleet — lone  keels  off  headlands  drear — 
When  the  sealing-schooners  flit  that  way  at  hazard  year  by  year. 
Ever  in  Yokohama  port  men  tell  the  tale  anew 
Of  a  hidden  sea  and  a  hidden  fight, 
When  the  Baltic  ran  from  the  Northern  Light 
And  the  Stralsund/0ft§^/  the  two. 


M'ANDREW'S  HYMN 

i  893   - 

T  ORD,  Thou  hast  made  this  world  below  the  shadow  of  a 

dream, 

An',  taught  by  time,  I  tak'  it  so — exceptin'  always  Steam. 
From  coupler-flange  to  spindle-guide  I  see  Thy  Hand,  O 

God- 
Predestination  in  the  stride  o'  yon  connectin'-rod. 
John  Calvin  might  ha'  forged  the  same — enorrmous,  certain, 

slow — 

Ay,  wrought  it  in  the  furnace-flame — my  "Institutio." 
I  cannot  get  my  sleep  to-night;  old  bones  are  hard  to  please; 
I'll  stand  the  middle  watch  up  here — alone  wi'  God  an'  these 
'The  male  seal.          'Hurricane. 


138  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

My  engines,  after  ninety  days  o'  race  an'  rack  an'  strain 
Through  all  the  seas  of  all  Thy  world,  slam-bangin'  home 

again. 
Slam-bang  too  much — they  knock  a  wee — the  crosshead- 

gibs  are  loose, 

But  thirty  thousand  mile  o'  sea  has  gied  them  fair  ex- 
cuse.    .     .     . 
Fine,  clear  an'  dark — a  full-draught  breeze,  wi'  Ushant  out 

o'  sight, 

An'  Ferguson  relievin'  Hay.     Old  girl,  ye'll  walk  to-night! 
His  wife's   at   Plymouth.     .     .     .     Seventy — One — Two — 

Three  since  he  began — 
Three  turns  for  Mistress  Ferguson     .     .     .     and  who's  to 

blame  the  man? 

There's  none  at  any  port  for  me,  by  drivin'  fast  or  slow, 
Since  Elsie  Campbell  went  to  Thee,  Lord,  thirty  years  ago. 
(The  year  the  Sarah  Sands  was  burned.     Oh  roads  we  used 

to  tread, 

Fra'  Maryhill  to  Pollokshaws — fra'  Govan  to  Parkhead !) 
Not  but  they're  ceevil  on  the  Board.     Ye'll  hear  Sir  Kenneth 

say: 
"Good  morrn,  McAndrew!     Back  again?     An'  how's  your 

bilge  to-day?" 

Miscallin'  technicalities  but  handin'  me  my  chair 
To  drink  Madeira  wi'  three  Earls — the  auld  Fleet  Engineer 
That  started  as  a  boiler-whelp — when  steam  and  he  were 

low. 

/  mind  the  time  we  used  to  serve  a  broken  pipe  wi'  tow! 
Ten  pound  was  all  the  pressure  then — Eh !     Eh ! — a  man  wad 

drive; 

An'  here,  our  workin'  gauges  give  one  hunder  sixty-five! 
We're  creepin'  on  wi'  each  new  rig — less  weight  an'  larger 

power: 

There'll  be  the  loco-boiler  next  an'  thirty  miles  an  hour! 
Thirty  an'  more.     What  I  ha'  seen  since  ocean-steam  began 
Leaves  me  na  doot  for  the  machine:  but  what  about  the 

m  an? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  139 

The  man  that  counts,  wi'  all  his  runs,  one  million  mile  o' 

sea: 
Four  time  the  span  from  eartli  to  moon.     .     .     .     How  far, 

O  Lord,  from  Thee 
That  wast  beside  him  night  an'  day?     Ye  mind  my  first 

typhoon  ? 

It  scoughed  the  skipper  on  his  way  to  jock  wi'  the  saloon. 
Three  feet  were  on  the  stokehold-floor — just  slappin'  to  an' 

fro — 

An'  cast  me  on  a  furnace-door.     I  have  the  marks  to  show. 
Marks!     I  ha'  marks  o'  more  than  burns — deep  in  my  soul 

an'  black, 
An'  times  like  this,  when  things  go  smooth,  my  wickud- 

ness  comes  back. 

The  sins  o'  four  an'  forty  years,  all  up  an'  down  the  seas. 
Clack  an'  repeat  like  valves  half-fed.    .     .     .     Forgie  's  our 

trespasses ! 

Nights  when  I'd  come  on  deck  to  mark,  wi'  envy  in  my  gaze, 
The  couples  kittlin'  in  the  dark  between  the  funnel-stays; 
Years  when  I  raked  the  Ports  wi'  pride  to  fill  my  cup  o' 

wrong — 

Judge  not,  O  Lord,  my  steps  aside  at  Gay  Street  in  Hong- 
Kong! 

Blot  out  the  wastrel  hours  of  mine  in  sin  when  I  abode — 
Jane  Harrigan's  an'  Number  Nine,  The  Reddick  an'  Grant 

Road! 
An'  waur  than  all — my  crownin'  sin — rank  blasphemy  an' 

wild. 

I  was  not  four  and  twenty  then — Ye  wadna  judge  a  child? 
I'd  seen  the  Tropics  first  that  run — new  fruit,  new  smells, 

new  air — 
How  could  I  tell — blind-fou  wi'  sun — the  Deil  was  lurkin' 

there? 
By  day  like  playhouse-scenes  the  shore  slid  past  our  sleepy 

eyes; 
By  night  those  soft,  lasceevious  stars  leered  from  those  velvet 

skies, 


140  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

In  port   (we  used  no  cargo-steam)  I'd  daunder  down  the 

streets — 

An  ijjit  grinnin'  in  a  dream — for  shells  an'  parrakeets, 
An'  walkin'-sticks  o'  carved  bamboo  an'  blowfish  stuffed  an* 

dried — 

Fillin'  my  bunk  wi'  rubbishry  the  Chief  put  overside. 
Till,  off  Sambawa  Head,  Ye  mind,  I  heard  a  land-breeze  ca', 
Milk-warm  wi'  breath  o'  spice  an'  bloom:  " McAndrew,  come 

awa'!" 

Firm,  clear  an'  low — no  haste,  no  hate — the  ghostly  whis- 
per went, 

Just  statin'  eevidential  facts  beyon'  all  argument: 
"Your  mither's  God's  a  graspin'  deil,  the  shadow  o'  yoursel', 
"Got  out  o'  books  by  meenisters  clean  daft  on  Heaven  an' 

Hell. 

"They  mak'  him  in  the  Broomielaw,  o'  Glasgie  cold  an'  dirt, 
"A  jealous,  pridefu'  fetich,  lad,  that's  only  strong  to  hurt, 
"Ye'll  not  go  back  to  Him  again  an'  kiss  His  red-hot  rod, 
"But  come  wi'  Us"  (Now,  who  were  They  .?)  "an'  know  the 

Leevin'  God, 

"That  does  not  kipper  souls  for  sport  or  break  a  life  in  jest, 
"But  swells  the  ripenin'  cocoanuts  an'  ripes  the  woman's 

breast." 
An*  there  it  stopped:  cut  off:  no  more;  that  quiet,  certain 

voice — 

For  me,  six  months  o'  twenty-four,  to  leave  or  take  at  choice. 
'Twas  on  me  like  a  thunderclap — it  racked  me  through  an' 

through — 

Temptation  past  the  show  o'  speech,  unnameable  an'  new — 
The  Sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost?     .     .     .     An'  under  all, 

our  screw. 

That  storm  blew  by  but  left  behind  her  anchor-shiftin'  swell. 
Thou  knowest  all  my  heart  an'  mind,  Thou  knowest,  Lord,  I 

fell. 

Third  on  the  Mary  Gloster  then,  and  first  that  night  in  Hell! 
Yet  was  Thy  Hand  beneath  my  head,  about  myfeetThy  Care — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  141 

Fra'  Deli  clear  to  Torres  Strait,  the  trial  o'  despair, 

But  when  we  touched  the  Barrier  Reef  Thy  answer  to  my 

prayer!    .     .     . 
We  dared  na  run  that  sea  by  night  but  lay  an'  held  our 

fire, 
An*  I  was  drowsin'  on  the  hatch — sick — sick  wi'  doubt  an* 

tire: 

"Better  the  sight  of  eyes  that  see  than  wanderin"  o'  desire  !" 
Ye  mind  that  word?     Clear  as  our  gongs — again,  an'  once 

again, 
When  rippin'  down  through  coral-trash  ran  out  our  moorin'- 

chain; 

An',  by  Thy  Grace,  I  had  the  Light  to  see  my  duty  plain. 
Light  on  the  engine-room — no  more — bright  as  our  carbons 

burn. 
I've  lost  it  since  a  thousand  times,  but  never  past  return! 

Obsairve.     Per  annum  we'll  have  here  two  thousand  souls 

aboard — 

Think  not  I  dare  to  justify  myself  before  The  Lord, 
But — average  fifteen  hunder  souls  safe-borne  fra'  port  to 

port — 

I  am  o'  service  to  my  kind.     Ye  wadna  blame  the  thought  ? 
Maybe  they  steam  from  Grace  to  Wrath — to  sin  by  folly 

led— 

It  isna  mine  to  judge  their  path — their  lives  are  on  my  head. 
Mine  at  the  last — when  all  is  done  it  all  comes  back  to  me, 
The  fault  that  leaves  six  thousand  ton  a  log  upon  the  sea. 
We'll  tak'  one  stretch — three  weeks  an'  odd  by  ony  road  ye 

steer — 

Fra'  Cape  Town  east  to  Wellington — ye  need  an  engineer. 
Fail  there — ye've  time  to  weld  your  shaft — ay,  eat  it,  ere 

ye're  spoke; 
Or  make  Kerguelen  under  sail — three  jiggers  burned  wi' 

smoke ! 

An'  home  again — the  Rio  run:  it's  no  child's  play  to  go 
Steamin'  to  bell  for  fourteen  days  o'  snow  an'  floe  an'  blow. 


142  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  bergs  like  kelpies  overside  that  girn  an'  turn  an'  shift 
Whaur,  grindin'  like  the  Mills  o'  God,  goes  by  the  big  South 

drift. 
(Hail,  Snow  and  Ice  that  praise  the  Lord.      I've  met  them 

at  their  work, 

An'  wished  we  had  anither  route  or  they  anither  kirk.) 
Yon's  strain,  hard  strain,  o'  head  an'  hand,  for  though  Thy 

Power  brings 
All  skill  to  naught,  Ye'll  understand  a  man  must  think  o' 

things. 
Then,  at  the  last,  we'll  get  to  port  an'  hoist  their  baggage 

clear — 
The  passengers,  wi'  gloves  an'  canes — an'  this  is  what  I'll 

hear: 
"Well,  thank  ye  for  a  pleasant  voyage.     The  tender's  comin' 

now." 

While  I  go  testin'  follower-bolts  an'  watch  the  skipper  bow. 
They've  words  for  every  one  but  me — shake  hands  wi'  half 

the  crew, 

Except  the  dour  Scots  engineer,  the  man  they  never  knew. 
An'  yet  I  like  the  wark  for   all   we've  dam'  few  pickin's 

here — 
No  pension,  an'  the  most  we'll  earn  's  four  hunder  pound  a 

year. 

Better  myself  abroad  ?     Maybe.     I'd  sooner  starve  than  sail 
Wi'  such  as  call  a  snifter-rod  ross.     .     .     .     French  for  night- 
ingale. 

Commeesion  on  my  stores?     Some  do;  but  I  cannot  afford 
To  lie  like  stewards  wi'  patty-pans.     I'm  older  than  the 

Board. 

A  bonus  on  the  coal  I  save  ?     Ou  ay,  the  Scots  are  close, 
But  when  I  grudge  the  strength  Ye  gave  I'll  grudge  their 

food  to  those. 

(There's  bricks  that  I  might  recommend — an'  clink  the  fire- 
bars cruel. 
No!     Welsh — Wangarti  at  the  worst — an'  damn  all  patent 

fuel!) 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  143 

Inventions?     Ye  must  stay  in  port  to  mak'  a  patent  pay. 
My  Deeferential  Valve-Gear  taught  me  how  that  business 

lay, 

I  blame  no  chaps  wi'  clearer  heads  for  aught  they  make  or  sell. 
1  found  that  I  could  not  invent  an'  look  to  these  as  well. 
So,  wrestled  wi'  Apollyon — Nah! — fretted  like  a  bairn — 
But  burned  the  workin'-plans  last  run  wi'  all  I  hoped  to  earn. 
Ye  know  how  hard  an  Idol  dies,  an'  what  that  meant  to  me — 
E'en  tak'  it  for  a  sacrifice  acceptable  to  Thee.     .     .     . 
Below  there  !     Oiler!    Whaf  s  yourwark  ?     Yefinditrunnin 

hard  ? 

Ye  needn't  swill  the  cup  wi'  oil — this  isn't  the  Cunard  ! 
Ye  thought  ?     Ye  are  not  paid  to  think.     Go,  sweat  that  off 

again  ! 
Tck!     Tck!     It's  deeficult  to  sweer  nor  tak'  The  Name  in 

vain! 

Men,  ay  an'  women,  call  me  stern.     Wi'  these  to  oversee 
Ye'll  note  I've  little  time  to  burn  on  social  repartee. 
The  bairns  see  what  their  elders  miss;  they'll  hunt  me  to  an' 

fro, 

Till  for  the  sake  of — well,  a  kiss — I  tak'  'em  down  below. 
That  minds  me  of  our  Viscount  loon — Sir  Kenneth's  kin — 

the  chap 

Wi'  Russia  leather  tennis-shoon  an'  spar-decked  yachtin'-cap. 
I  showed  him  round  last  week,  o'er  all — an'  at  the  last  says 

he: 
"Mister  McAndrew,  don't  you  think  steam  spoils  romance 

at  sea?" 
Damned  ijjit!     I'd  been  doon  that  morn  to  see  what  ailed 

the  throws, 

Manholin',  c«n  my  back — the  cranks  three  inches  oft  my  nose. 
Romance !     Those  first-class  passengers  they  like  it  very  well,  - 
Printed  an'  bound  in  little  books;  but  why  don't  poets  tell? 
I'm  sick  of  all  their  quirks  an'  turns — the  loves  an'  doves 

they  dream — 
Lord,  send  a  man  like  Robbie  Burns  to  sing  the  Song  o' 

Steam! 


144  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

To  match  wi'  Scotia's  noblest  speech  yon  orchestra  sublime 
Whaurto — uplifted  like   the  Just — the   tail-rods  mark   the 

time. 
The  crank-throws  give  the  double-bass,  the  feed-pump  sobs 

an'  heaves, 
An'  now  the  main  eccentrics  start   their  quarrel  on   the 

sheaves: 
Her  time,  her  own  appointed  time,  the  rocking  link-head 

bides, 
Till — hear  that  note? — the  rod's  return  whings  glimmerin' 

through  the  guides. 
They're  all  awa!     True  beat,  full  power,  the  clangin'  chorus 

goes 

Clear  to  the  tunnel  where  they  sit,  my  purrin'  dynamoes. 
Interdependence  absolute,  foreseen,  ordained,  decreed, 
To  work,  Ye'll  note,  at  any  tilt  an'  every  rate  o'  speed. 
Fra  skylight-lift  to  furnace-bars,  backed,  bolted,  braced  anr 

stayed. 

An*  singin'  like  the  Mornin*  Stars  for  joy  that  they  are  made; 
While,   out  o'  touch  o'  vanity,   the   sweatin'  thrust-block 

says: 

"Not  unto  us  the  praise,  or  man — not  unto  us  the  praise!" 
Now,   a'   together,  hear   them   lift   their  lesson — theirs  an* 

mine: 

"Law,  Orrder,  Duty  an'  Restraint,  Obedience,  Discipline!" 
Mill,  forge  an'  try-pit  taught  them  that  when  roarin'  they 

arose, 

An'  whiles  I  wonder  if  a  soul  was  gied  them  wi'  the  blows. 
Oh  for  a  man  to  weld  it  then,  in  one  trip-hammer  strain, 
Till  even  first-class  passengers  could  tell  the  meanin'  plain! 
But  no  one  cares  except  mysel'  that  serve  an'  understand 
My  seven  thousand  horse-power  here.     Eh,  Lord!     They're 

grand — they're  grand! 
Uplift  am  I?     When  first  in  store  the  new-made  beasties 

stood, 
Were  Ye  cast  down  that  breathed  the  Word  declarin'  all 

things  good? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  145 

Not  so!    O'  that  warld-liftin'  joy  no  after-fall  could  vex, 
Ye've  left  a  glimmer  still  to  cheer  the  Man — the  Arrtifex! 
That  holds,  in  spite  o'  knock  and  scale,  o'  friction,  waste  an' 

slip, 
An'  by  that  light — now,  mark  my  word — we'll  build  the 

Perfect  Ship. 

Ill  never  last  to  judge  her  lines  or  take  her  curve — not  I. 
But  I  ha'  lived  an'  I  ha'  worked.     Be  thanks  to  Thee,  Most 

High! 

An'  I  ha'  done  what  I  ha'  done — judge  Thou  if  ill  or  well — 
Always  Thy  Grace  preventin'  me.     .     .     . 

Losh!    Yon's  the    "Stand-by"    bell. 
Pilot  so  soon?     His  flare  it  is.     The  mornin'-watch  is  set. 
Well,  God  be  thanked,  as  I  was  sayin',  I'm  no  Pelagian  yet. 
Now  I'll  tak'  on.     ... 

'Morrn,  Ferguson.     Man,  have  ye  ever  thought 
What  your  good  leddy  costs  in  coal  .<*...    /'//  burn  'em 

down  to  port. 


MULHOLLAND'S  CONTRACT 

i  894 

'"THE  fear  was  on  the  cattle,  for  the  gale  was  on  the  sea, 
An'  the  pens  broke  up  on  the  lower  deck  an'  let  the  crea- 
tures free — 

An'  the  lights  went  out  on  the  lower  deck,  an'  no  one  near  but 
me. 

I  had  been  singin'  to  them  to  keep  'em  quiet  there, 

For  the  lower  deck  is  the  dangerousest,  requirin'  constant 

care, 
An'  give  to  me  as  the  strongest  man,  though  used  to  drink 

and  swear. 


146  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I  seed  my  chance  was  certain  of  bein'  horned  or  trod, 

For  the  lower  deck  was  packed  with  steers  thicker'n  peas 

in  a  pod, 
An'  more  pens  broke  at  every  roll — so  I  made  a  Contract 

with  God. 

An'  by  the  terms  of  the  Contract,  as  I  have  read  the  same, 
If  He  got  me  to  port  alive  I  would  exalt  His  Name, 
An'  praise  His  Holy  Majesty  till  further  orders  came. 

He  saved  me  from  the  cattle  an'  He  saved  me  from  the  sea, 
For  they  found  me  'tween  two  drownded  ones  where  the  roll 

had  landed  me — 
An'  a  four-inch  crack  on  top  of  my  head,  as  crazy  as  could  be. 

But  that  were  done  by  a  stanchion,  an'  not  by  a  bullock  at  all, 
An*  I  lay  still  for  seven  weeks  convalescing  of  the  fall, 
An'readin'the  shiny  Scripture  texts  in  the  Seaman's  Hospital. 

An'  I  spoke  to  God  of  our  Contract,  an'  He  says  to  my  prayer: 
"I  never  puts  on  My  ministers  no  more  than  they  can  bear. 
"So  back  you  go  to  the  cattle-boats  an'  preach  My  Gospel 
there. 

"For  human  life  is  chancy  at  any  kind  of  trade, 
"  But  most  of  all,  as  well  you  know,  when  the  steers  are  mad- 
afraid; 

"So  you  go  back  to  the  cattle-boats  an'  preach  'em  as  I've 
said. 

"They  must  quit  drinkin*  an'  swearin',  they  mustn't  knife  on 

a  blow, 
"They  must  quit  gamblin'  their  wages,  and  you  must  preach 

it  so; 
"  For  now  those  boats  are  more  like  Hell  than  anything  else 

I  know." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  147 

1  didn't  want  to  do  it,  for  I  knew  what  I  should  get, 

An'  I  wanted  to  preach  Religion,  handsome  an'  out  of  the 

wet, 
But  the  Word  of  the  Lord  were  laid  on  me,  an'  I  done  what  I 

was  set. 

I  have  been  smit  an'  bruised,  as  warned  would  be  the  case, 
An'  turned  my  cheek  to  the  smiter  exactly  as  Scripture  says; 
But,  following  that,  I  knocked  him  down  an'  led  him  up  to 
Grace. 

An'  we  have  preaching  on  Sundays  whenever  the  sea  is  calm, 

An'  I  use  no  knife  or  pistol  an'  I  never  take  no  harm, 

For  the  Lord  abideth  back  of  me  to  guide  my  fighting  arm. 

An'  I  sign  for  four-pound-ten  a  month  and  save  the  money 

clear, 

An'  I  am  in  charge  of  the  lower  deck,  an'  I  never  lose  a  steer; 
An'  I  believe  in  Almighty  God  an'  I  preach  His  Gospel  here. 

The  skippers  say  I'm  crazy,  but  I  can  prove  'em  wrong, 
For  I  am  in  charge  of  the  lower  deck  with  all  that  doth  be- 
long— 

Which  they  would  not  give  to  a  lunaticy  and  the  competition 
so  strong  ! 


THE  "MARY  GLOSTER" 

i  894 

I'VE  paid  for  your  sickest  fancies;  I've  humoured  your 

crackedest  whim — 

Dick,  it's  your  daddy,  dying;  you've  got  to  listen  to  him! 
Good  for  a  fortnight,  am  I  ?     The  doctor  told  you  ?     He  lied. 
I  shall  go  under  by  morning,  and Put  that  nurse  out- 
side. 


i48  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

'Never  seen  death  yet,  Dickie?     Well,  now  is  your  time  to 

learn, 
And  you'll  wish  you  held  my  record  before  it  comes  to  your 

turn. 
Not  counting  the  Line  and  the  Foundry,  the  Yards  and  the 

village,  too, 
I've  made  myself  and  a  million;  but  I'm  damned  if  I  made 

you. 

Master  at  two-and- twenty,  and  married  at  twenty-three — 
Ten  thousand  men  on  the  pay-roll,  and  forty  freighters  at 

sea! 

Fifty  years  between  'em,  and  every  year  of  it  fight, 
And  now  I'm  Sir  Anthony  Gloster,  dying,  a  baronite: 
For  I  lunched  with  his  Royal  'Ighness — what  was  it  the 

papers  had? 
"Not  least  of  our  merchant-princes."     Dickie,  that's  me, 

your  dad ! 

7  didn't  begin  with  askings.     /  took  my  job  and  I  stuck; 
I  took  the  chances  they  wouldn't,  an'  now  they're  calling  it 

luck. 

Lord,  what  boats  I've  handled — rotten  and  leaky  and  old! 
Ran  'em,  or — opened  the  bilge-cock,  precisely  as  I  was  told. 
Grub  that  'ud  bind  you  crazy,  and  crews  that  'ud  turn  you 

g.reY> 

And  a  big  fat  lump  of  insurance  to  cover  the  risk  on  the  way. 
The  others  they  dursn't  do  it;  they  said  they  valued  their 

^life 
(They've  served  me  since  as  skippers).     /  went,  and  I  took 

my  wife. 

Over  the  world  I  drove  'em,  married  at  twenty-three, 
And  your  mother  saving  the  money  and  making  a  man  of  me. 
/  was  content  to  be  master,  but  she  said  there  was  better 

behind; 
She  took  the  chances  I  wouldn't,  and  I  followed  your  mother 

blind. 
She  egged  me  to  borrow  the  money,  an'  she  helped  me  to  clear 

the  loan, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  149 

When  we  bought  half-shares  in  a  cheap  'un  and  hoisted  a  flag 

of  our  own. 

Patching  and  coaling  on  credit,  and  living  the  Lord  knew  how, 
We  started  the  Red  Ox  freighters — we've  eight-and-thirty 

now. 
And  those  were  the  days  of  clippers,  and  the  freights  were 

clipper-freights, 
And  we  knew  we  were  making  our  fortune,  but  she  died  in 

Macassar  Straits — 

By  the  Little  Paternosters,  as  you  come  to  the  Union  Bank — 
And  we  dropped  her  in  fourteen  fathom;  I  pricked  it  off 

where  she  sank. 
Owners  we  were,  full  owners,  and  the  boat  was  christened  for 

her, 
And  she  died  in  the  Mary  Gloster.     My  heart,  how  young  we 

were ! 

So  I  went  on  a  spree  round  Java  and  well-nigh  ran  her  ashore, 
But  your  mother  came  and  warned  me  and  I  wouldn't  liquor 

no  more: 

Strict  I  stuck  to  my  business,  afraid  to  stop  or  I'd  think, 
Saving  the  money  (she  warned  me),  and  letting  the  other  men 

drink. 
And  I  met  M'Cullough  in  London  (I'd  saved  five  'undred 

then), 
And  'tween  us  we  started  the  Foundry — three  forges  and 

twenty  men: 
Cheap  repairs  for  the  cheap  'uns.     It  paid,  and  the  business 

grew, 
For  I  bought  me  a  steam-lathe  patent,  and  that  was  a  gold 

mine  too. 
"  Cheaper  to  build  'em  than  buy  'em,"  /  said,  but  M'Cullough 

he  shied, 
And  we  wasted  a  year  in  talking  before  we  moved  to  the 

Clyde. 

And  the  Lines  were  all  beginning,  and  we  all  of  us  started  fair, 
Building  our  engines  like  houses  and  staying  the  boilers 

square. 


i5o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

But  M'Cullough  'e  wanted  cabins  with  marble  and  maple  and 

all, 

And  Brussels  an'  Utrecht  velvet,  and  baths  and  a  Social  Hall, 
And  pipes  for  closets  all  over,  and  cutting  the  frames  too  light, 
But  M'Cullough  he  died  in  the  Sixties,  and Well,  I'm 

dying  to-night. 
I  knew — /  knew  what  was  coming,  when  we  bid  on    the 

Eyfleefs  keel— 
They  piddled  and  piffled  with  iron.     I'd  given  my  orders  for 

steel! 

Steel  and  the  first  expansions.     It  paid,  I  tell  you,  it  paid, 
When  we  came  with  our  nine-knot  freighters  and  collared  the 

long-run  trade! 
And  they  asked  me  how  I  did  it,  and  I  gave  'em  the  Scripture 

text, 

"You  keep  your  light  so  shining  a  little  in  front  o'  the  next!" 
They  copied  all  they  could  follow,  but  they  couldn't  copy  my 

mind, 

And  I  left  'em  sweating  and  stealing  a  year  and  a  half  behind. 
Then  came  the  armour-contracts,  but  that  was  M'Cullough's 

side; 
He  was  always  best  in  the  Foundry,  but  better,  perhaps,  he 

died. 
I  went  through  his  private  papers;  the  notes  was  plainer 

than  print; 

And  I'm  no  fool  to  finish  if  a  man'll  give  me  a  hint. 
(I  remember  his  widow  was  angry.)     So  I  saw  what  his  draw- 
ings meant, 
And  I  started  the  six-inch  rollers,  and  it  paid  me  sixty  per 

cent. 

Sixty  per  cent  with  failures,  and  more  than  twice  we  could  do, 
And  a  quarter-million  to  credit,  and  I  saved  it  all  for  you! 
I  thought — it  doesn't  matter — you  seemed  to  favour  your  ma, 
But  you're  nearer  forty  than  thirty,  and  I  know  the  kind 

you  are. 

Harrer  an'  Trinity  College!  I  ought  to  ha'  sent  you  to  sea — 
But  I  stood  you  an  education,  an'  what  have  you  done  for  me  ? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  151 

The  things  I  knew  was  proper  you  wouldn't  thank  me  to  give, 
And  the  things  I  knew  was  rotten  you  said  was  the  way  to 

live. 
For  you  muddled  with  books  and  pictures,  an*  china  an' 

etchin's  an'  fans, 
And  your  rooms  at  college  was  beastly — more  like  a  whore's 

than  a  man's; 
Till  you  married  that  thin-flanked  woman,  as  white  and  as 

stale  as  a  bone, 
An'  she  gave  you  your  social  nonsense;  but  where's  that  kid 

o'  your  own? 
I've  seen  your  carriages  blocking  the  half  o'  the  Cromwell 

Road, 

But  never  the  doctor's  brougham  to  help  the  missus  unload. 
(So  there  isn't  even  a  grandchild,  an'  the  Gloster  family's 

done.) 
Not  like  your  mother,  she  isn't.     She  carried  her  freight  each 

run. 
But  they  died,  the  pore  little  beggars!     At  sea  she  had  'em 

— they  died. 

Only  you,  an'  you  stood  it.     You  haven't  stood  much  beside. 
Weak,  a  liar,  and  idle,  and  mean  as  a  collier's  whelp 
Nosing  for  scraps  in  the  galley.     No  help — my  son  was  no 

help! 
So  he  gets  three  'undred  thousand,  in  trust  and  the  interest 

paid. 

I  wouldn't  give  it  you,  Dickie — you  see,  I  made  it  in  trade. 
You're  saved  from  soiling  your  ringers,  and  if  you  have  no 

child, 
It  all  comes  back  to  the  business.      'Gad,  won't  your  wife  be 

wild! 

'Calls  and  calls  in  her  carriage,  her  'andkerchief  up  to  'er  eye: 
"Daddy!  dear  daddy's  dyin'!"  and  doing  her  best  to  cry. 
Grateful?     Oh,  yes,  I'm  grateful,  but  keep  her  away  from 

here. 
Your  mother  'ud  never  ha'  stood  'er,  and,  anyhow,  women  are 

queer.     .     .     . 


152  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

There's  women  will  say  I've  married  a  second  time.     Not 

quite! 
But  give  pore  Aggie  a  hundred,  and  tell  her  your  lawyers'll 

fight. 

She  was  the  best  o'  the  boiling — you'll  meet  her  before  it  ends. 
I'm  in  for  a  row  with  the  mother — I'll  leave  you  settle  my 

friends. 
For  a  man  he  must  go  with  a  woman,  which  women  don't 

understand — 
Or  the  sort  that  say  they  can  see  it  .they  aren't  the  marrying 

brand. 
But  I  wanted  to  speak  o'  your  mother  that's  Lady  Gloster 

still; 

I'm  going  to  up  and  see  her,  without  its  hurting  the  will. 
Here!     Take  your  hand  off  the  bell-pull.     Five  thousand's 

waiting  for  you, 

If  you'll  only  listen  a  minute,  and  do  as  I  bid  you  do. 
They'll  try  to  prove  me  crazy,  and,  if  you  bungle,  they  can; 
And  I've  only  you  to  trust  to!     (O  God,  why  ain't  it  a  man?) 
There's  some  waste  money  on  marbles,  the  same  as  M'Cul- 

lough  tried — 

Marbles  and  mausoleums — but  I  call  that  sinful  pride. 
There's  some  ship   bodies  for  burial — we've  carried   'em, 

soldered  and  packed; 
Down  in  their  wills  they  wrote  it,  and  nobody  called  them 

cracked. 
But  me — I've  too  much  money,  and  people  might     .     .     . 

All  my  fault: 
It  come  o'  hoping  for  grandsons  and  buying  that  Wokin' 

vault.     .     .     . 
I'm  sick  o'  the  'ole  dam'  business.     I'm  going  back  where  I 

came. 
Dick,  you're  the  son  o'  my  body,  and  you'll  take  charge  o' 

the  same! 

I  want  to  lie  by  your  mother,  ten  thousand  mile  away, 
And  they'll  want  to  send  me  to  Woking;  and  that's  where 

you'll  earn  your  pay. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  153 

I've  thought  it  out  on  the  quiet,  the  same  as  it  ought  to  be 

done — 
Quiet,  and  decent,  and  proper — an'  here's  your  orders,  my 

son. 
You  know  the  Line?     You  don't,  though.     You  write  to  the 

Board,  and  tell 
Your  father's  death  has  upset  you  an'  you're  goin'  to  cruise 

for  a  spell, 
An'  you'd  like  the  Mary  Gloster — I've  held  her  ready  for 

this — 
They'll  put  her  in  working  order  and  you'll  take  her  out  as 

she  is. 

Yes,  it  was  money  idle  when  I  patched  her  and  laid  her  aside 
(Thank  God,  I  can  pay  for  my  fancies!) — the  boat  where 

your  mother  died, 

By  the  Little  Paternosters,  as  you  come  to  the  Union  Bank, 
We  dropped  her — I  think  I  told  you — and  I  pricked  it  off 

where  she  sank. 

['Tiny  she  looked  on  the  grating — that  oily,  treacly  sea — ] 
'Hundred  and  Eighteen  East,  remember,  and  South  just 

Three. 

Easy  bearings  to  carry — Three  South — Three  to  the  dot; 
But  I  gave  McAndrew  a  copy  in  case  of  dying — or  not. 
And  so  you'll  write  to  McAndrew,  he's  Chief  of  the  Maori 

Line; 
They'll  give  him  leave,  if  you  ask  'em  and  say  it's  business  o' 

mine. 
I  built  three  boats  for  the  Maoris,  an'  very  well  pleased  they 

were, 
An'  I've  known  Mac  since  the  Fifties,  and  Mac  knew  me — 

and  her. 

After  the  first  stroke  warned  me  I  sent  him  the  money  to  keep 
Against  the  time  you'd  claim  it,  committin'  your  dad  to  the 

deep; 
For  you  are  the  son  o'  my  body,  and  Mac  was  my  oldest 

friend, 
I've  never  asked  'im  to  dinner,  but  he'll  see  it  out  to  the  end. 


154  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Stiff-necked  Glasgow  beggar!     I've  heard  he's  prayed  for 

my  soul, 
But  he  couldn't  lie  if  you  paid  him,  and  he'd  starve  before  he 

stole. 
He'll  take   the  Mary  in   ballast — you'll  find  her  a  lively 

ship; 

And  you'll  take  Sir  Anthony  Gloster,  that  goes  on  'is  wedding- 
trip, 

Lashed  in  our  old  deck-cabin  with  all  three  port-holes  wide, 
The  kick  o'  the  screw  beneath  him  and  the  round  blue  seas 

outside! 

Sir  Anthony  Gloster's  carriage — our  'ouse-flag  flyin'  free — 
Ten  thousand  men  on  the  pay-roll  and    forty  freighters  at 

sea! 
He  made  himself  and  a  million,  but  this  world  is  a  fleetin' 

show, 
And  he'll  go  to  the  wife  of  'is  bosom  the  same  as  he  ought  to 

go— 
By  the  heel  of  the  Paternosters — there  isn't  a  chance  to 

mistake — 

And  Mac'll  pay  you  the  money  as  soon  as  the  bubbles  break! 
Five  thousand  for  six  weeks'  cruising,  the  staunchest  freighter 

afloat, 
And  Mac  he'll  give  you  your  bonus  the  minute  I'm  out  o'  the 

boat! 
He'll  take  you  round  to  Macassar,  and  you'll  come  back 

alone; 
He  knows  what  I  want  o'  the  Mary.     .     .     .     I'll  do  what  I 

please  with  my  own. 
Your  mother  'ud  call  it  wasteful,  but  I've  seven-and-thirty 

more; 
I'll  come  in   my  private  carriage   and   bid  it  wait  at  the 

door.     .     .     . 
For  my  son  'e  was  never  a  credit:  'e  muddled  with  books  and 

art, 

And  'e  lived  on  Sir  Anthony's  money  and  'e  broke  Sir  An- 
thony's heart. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  155 

There  isn't  even   a  grandchild,   and   the  Gloster  family's 

done —     . 

The  only  one  you  left  me,  O  mother,  the  only  one ! 
Harrer  and  Trinity  College — me  slavin'  early  an'  late — 
An'  he  thinks  I'm  dying  crazy,  and  you're  in  Macassar 

Strait! 

Flesh  o'  my  flesh,  my  dearie,  for  ever  an'  ever  amen, 
That  first  stroke  come  for  a  warning.    I  ought  to  ha'  gone  to 

you  then. 
But — cheap  repairs  for  a  cheap  'un — the  doctors  said  I'd 

do. 

Mary,  why  didn't  you  warn  me?  I've  allus  heeded  to  you, 
Excep' — I  know — about  women;  but  you  are  a  spirit  now; 
An',  wife,  they  was  only  women,  and  I  was  a  man.  That's 

how. 

An'  a  man  'e  must  go  with  a  woman,  as  you  could  not  under- 
stand; 

But  I  never  talked  'em  secrets.     I  paid  'em  out  o'  hand. 
Thank  Gawd,  I  can  pay  for  my  fancies!     Now  what's  five 

thousand  to  me, 
For  a  berth  off  the  Paternosters  in  the  haven  where  I  would 

be? 

/  believe  in  the  Resurrection,  if  I  read  my  Bible  plain, 
But  I  wouldn't  trust  'em  at  Wokin';  we're  safer  at  sea  again. 
For  the  heart  it  shall  go  with  the  treasure — go  down  to  the 

sea  in  ships. 

I'm  sick  of  the  hired  women.     I'll  kiss  my  girl  on  her  lips! 
I'll  be  content  with  my  fountain.     I'll  drink  from  my  own 

well, 
And  the  wife  of  my  youth  shall  charm  me — an'  the  rest  can 

go  to  Hell! 

(Dickie,  he  will,  that's  certain.)  I'll  lie  in  our  standin'-bed, 
An'  Mac'll  take  her  in  ballast — an'  she  trims  best  by  the 

head.     .     .     . 

Down  by  the  head  an'  sinkin',  her  fires  are  drawn  and  cold, 
And  the  water's  splashin'  hollow  on  the  skin  of  the  empty 

hold— 


156  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Churning  an'  choking  and  chuckling,  quiet  and  scummy  and 

dark- 
Full  to  her  lower  hatches  and  risin'  steady.     Hark ! 
That  was  the  after-bulkhead.     .     .     .     She's  flooded  from 

stem  to  stern.     .     .     . 
'Never  seen  death  yet,  Dickie?     .     .     .     Well,  now  is  your 

time  to  learn! 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  "BOLIVAR" 

1890 

QEPEN  men  from  all  the  world  back  to  Docks  again, 

Rolling  down  the  Ratclijfe  Road  drunk  and  raising  Cain. 
Give  the  girls  another  drink  'fore  we  sign  away — 
We  that  took  the  "  Bolivar"  out  across  the  Bay  ! 

We  put  out  from  Sunderland  loaded  down  with  rails; 

We  put  back  to  Sunderland  'cause  our  cargo  shifted; 
We  put  out  from  Sunderland — met  the  winter  gales — 

Seven  days  and  seven  nights  to  the  Start  we  drifted. 

Racketing  her  rivets  loose,  smoke-stack  white  as  snow, 
All  the  coals  adrift  adeck,  half  the  rails  below, 
Leaking  like  a  lobster-pot,  steering  like  a  dray — 
Out  we  took  the  Bolivar,  out  across  the  Bay! 

One  by  one  the  Lights  came  up,  winked  and  let  us  by; 

Mile  by  mile  we  waddled  on,  coal  and  fo'c'sle  short; 
Met  a  blow  that  laid  us  down,  heard  a  bulkhead  fly; 

Left  The  Wolf  behind  us  with  a  two- foot  list  to  port. 

Trailing  like  a  wounded  duck,  working  out  her  soul; 
Clanging  like  a  smithy-shop  after  every  roll; 
Just  a  funnel  and  a  mast  lurching  through  the  spray — 
So  we  threshed  the  Bolivar  out  across  the  Bay! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  157 

Felt  her  hog  and  felt  her  sag,  betted  when  she'd  break; 

Wondered  every  time  she  raced  if  she'd  stand  the  shock; 
Heard  the  seas  like  drunken  men  pounding  at  her  strake; 

Hoped  the  Lord  'ud  keep  his  thumb  on  the  plummer- 
block! 

Banged  against  the  iron  decks,  bilges  choked  with  coal; 
Flayed  and  frozen  foot  and  hand,  sick  of  heart  and  soul; 
'Last  we  prayed  she'd  buck  herself  into  Judgment  Day — 
Hi!  we  cursed  the  Bolivar  knocking  round  the  Bay! 

O  her  nose  flung  up  to  sky,  groaning  to  be  still — 

Up  and  down  and  back  we  went,  never  time  for  breath; 

Then  the  money  paid  at  Lloyd's  caught  her  by  the  keel, 
And  the  stars  ran  round  and  round  dancin'  at  our  death! 

Aching  for  an  hour's  sleep,  dozing  off  between; 
'Heard  the  rotten  rivets  draw  when  she  took  it  green; 
Watched  the  compass  chase  its  tail  like  a  cat  at  play — 
That  was  on  the  Bolivar,  south  across  the  Bay! 

Once  we  saw  between  the  squalls,  lyin'  head  to  swell — 
Mad  with  work  and  weariness,  wishin'  they  was  we — 

Some  damned  Liner's  lights  go  by  like  a  grand  hotel; 
'Cheered  her  from  the  Bolivar  swampin'  in  the  sea. 

Then  a  grey  back  cleared  us  out,  then  the  skipper  laughed; 

"  Boys,  the  wheel  has  gone  to  Hell — rig  the  winches  aft ! 
"Yoke  the  kicking  rudder-head — get  her  under  way!" 

So  we  steered  her,  pully-haul,  out  across  the  Bay! 

Just  a  pack  o'  rotten  plates  puttied  up  with  tar, 
In  we  came,  an'  time  enough,  'cross  Bilbao  Bar. 
Overloaded,  undermanned,  meant  to  founder,  we 
Euchred  God  Almighty's  storm,  bluffed  the  Eternal  Sea! 


158  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Seven  men  from  all  the  world  back  to  town  again, 
Rollin  down  the  Ratcliffe  Road  drunk  and  raising  Cain: 
Seven  men  from  out  of  Hell,     din't  the  owners  gayy 
'Cause  we  took  the  "Bolivar"  safe  across  the  Bay  ? 


THE    BALLAD   OF  THE   "  CLAMPHERDOWN 

1892 

TT  WAS  our  war-ship  Clampherdown 

Would  sweep  the  Channel  clean, 
Wherefore  she  kept  her  hatches  close 
When  the  merry  Channel  chops  arose, 
To  save  the  bleached  Marine. 

She  had  one  bow-gun  of  a  hundred  ton, 

And  a  great  stern-gun  beside. 
They  dipped  their  noses  deep  in  the  sea, 
They  racked  their  stays  and  stanchions  free 

In  the  wash  of  the  wind-whipped  tide. 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown 

Fell  in  with  a  cruiser  light 
That  carried  the  dainty  Hotchkiss  gun 
And  a  pair  of  heels  wherewith  to  run 

From  the  grip  of  a  close-fought  fight. 

She  opened  fire  at  seven  miles — 

As  ye  shoot  at  a  bobbing  cork — 
And  once  she  fired  and  twice  she  fired, 
Till  the  bow-gun  drooped  like  a  lily  tired 
That  lolls  upon  the  stalk. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  159 

"Captain,  the  bow-gun  melts  apace, 

"The  deck-beams  break  below, 
"  'Twere  well  to  rest  for  an  hour  or  twain, 
"And  botch  the  shattered  plates  again." 

And  he  answered,  "Make  it  so." 

She  opened  fire  within  the  mile — 

As  you  shoot  at  the  flying  duck — 
And  the  great  stern-gun  shot  fair  and  true, 
With  the  heave  of  the  ship,  to  the  stainless  blue, 

And  the  great  stern-turret  stuck. 

"Captain,  the  turret  fills  with  steam, 

"The  feed-pipes  burst  below — 
"You  can  hear  the  hiss  of  the  helpless  ram, 
"You  can  hear  the  twisted  runners  jam." 

And  he  answered,  "Turn  and  go!" 


It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown, 

And  grimly  did  she  roll; 
Swung  round  to  take  the  cruiser's  fire 
As  the  White  Whale  faces  the  Thresher's  ire 

When  they  war  by  the  frozen  Pole. 

"Captain,  the  shells  are  falling  fast, 

"And  faster  still  fall  we; 
"And  it  is  not  meet  for  English  stock 
"To  bide  in  the  heart  of  an  eight-day  clock 

"The  death  they  cannot  see." 

"Lie  down,  lie  down,  my  bold  A.  B., 

"We  drift  upon  her  beam; 
"We  dare  not  ram,  for  she  can  run: 
"And  dare  ye  fire  another  gun, 

"And  die  in  the  peeling  steam?" 


i6o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown 

That  carried  an  armour-belt; 
But  fifty  feet  at  stern  and  bow 
Lay  bare  as  the  paunch  of  the  purser's  sow, 

To  the  hail  of  the  Nordenfeldt. 

"  Captain,  they  lack  us  through  and  through; 

"The  chilled  steel  bolts  are  swift! 
"  We  have  emptied  the  bunkers  in  open  sea, 
"Their  shrapnel  bursts  where  our  coal  should  be." 

And  he  answered,  "Let  her  drift." 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown y 

Swung  round  upon  the  tide, 
Her  two  dumb  guns  glared  south  and  north, 
And  the  blood  and  the  bubbling  steam  ran  forth, 

And  she  ground  the  cruiser's  side. 

"Captain,  they  cry,  the  fight  is  done, 
"They  bid  you  send  your  sword." 

And  he  answered,  "Grapple  her  stern  and  bow. 

"They  have  asked  for  the  steel.     They  shall  have 

it  now; 
"Out  cutlasses  and  board!" 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown 

Spewed  up  four  hundred  men; 
And  the  scalded  stokers  yelped  delight, 
As  they  rolled  in  the  waist  and  heard  the  fight, 

Stamp  o'er  their  steel-walled  pen. 

They  cleared  the  cruiser  end  to  end 

From  conning-tower  to  hold. 
They  fought  as  they  fought  in  Nelson's  fleet; 
They  were  stripped  to  the  waist,  they  were  bare 
to  the  feet. 

As  it  was  in  the  days  of  old. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  161 

It  was  the  sinking  Clampherdown 

Heaved  up  her  battered  side — 
And  carried  a  million  pounds  in  steel, 
To  the  cod  and  the  corpse-fed  conger-eel, 

And  the  scour  of  the  Channel  tide. 

It  was  the  crew  of  the  Clampherdown 

Stood  out  to  sweep  the  sea, 
On  a  cruiser  won  from  an  ancient  fqc, 
As  it  was  in  the  days  of  long  ago, 

And  as  it  still  shall  be! 


CRUISERS 

1899 

^S  OUR  mother  the  Frigate,  bepainted  and  fine, 
Made  play  for  her  bully  the  Ship  of  the  Line; 
So  we,  her  bold  daughters  by  iron  and  fire, 
Accost  and  decoy  to  our  masters'  desire. 

Now,  pray  you,  consider  what  toils  we  endure, 
Night-walking  wet  sea-lanes,  a  guard  and  a  lure; 
Since  half  of  our  trade  is  that  same  pretty  sort 
As  mettlesome  wenches  do  practise  in  port. 

For  this  is  our  ofBce:  to  spy  and  make  room, 
As  hiding  yet  guiding  the  foe  to  their  doom. 
Surrounding,  confounding,  we  bait  and  betray 
And  tempt  them  to  battle  the  seas'  width  away. 

The  pot-bellied  merchant  foreboding  no  wrong 
With  headlight  and  sidelight  he  lieth  along, 
Till,  lightless  and  lightfoot  and  lurking,  leap  we 
To  force  him  discover  his  business  by  sea. 


1 62  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  when  we  have  wakened  the  lust  of  a  foe, 
To  draw  him  by  flight  toward  our  bullies  we  go, 
Till,  'ware  of  strange  smoke  stealing  nearer,  he  flies 
Or  our  bullies  close  in  for  to  make  him  good  prize. 

So,  when  we  have  spied  on  the  path  of  their  host, 
One  flieth  to  carry  that  word  to  the  coast; 
And,  lest  by  false  doublings  they  turn  and  go  free, 
One  lieth  behind  them  to  follow  and  see. 

Anon  we  return,  being  gathered  again, 
Across  the  sad  valleys  all  drabbled  with  rain — 
Across  the  grey  ridges  all  crisped  and  curled — 
To  join  the  long  dance  round  the  curve  of  the  world. 

The  bitter  salt  spindrift,  the  sun-glare  likewise, 
The  moon-track  a-tremble,  bewilders  our  eyes, 
Where,  linking  and  lifting,  our  sisters  we  hail 
'Twixt  wrench  of  cross-surges  or  plunge  of  head-gale. 

As  maidens  awaiting  the  bride  to  come  forth 
Make  play  with  light  jestings  and  wit  of  no  worth, 
So,widdershins  circling  the  bride-bed  of  death, 
Each  fleereth  her  neighbour  and  signeth  and  saith: — 

"What  see  ye?     Their  signals,  or  levin  afar? 
"What  hear  ye?     God's  thunder,  or  guns  of  our  war? 
"What  mark  ye?  Their  smoke,  or  the  cloud-rack  outblownr 
"What  chase  ye?     Their  lights,  or  the  Daystar  low  down?" 

So,  times  past  all  number  deceived  by  false  shows, 
Deceiving  we  cumber  the  road  of  our  foes, 
For  this  is  our  virtue:  to  track  and  betray; 
Preparing  great  battles  a  sea's  width  away. 

Now  peace  is  at  end  and  our  peoples  take  heart , 

For  the  laws  are  clean  gone  that  restrained  our  art; 

Up  and  down  the  near  headlands  and  against  the  far  wind 

We  are  loosed  (0  be  swift  /)  to  the  work  of  our  kind! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  163 

THE  VERDICTS 

(JUTLAND) 
1916 

in  the  thick  of  the  fight, 
Not  in  the  press  of  the  odds, 
Do  the  heroes  come  to  their  height, 
Or  we  know  the  demi-gods. 

That  stands  over  till  peace. 

We  can  only  perceive 
Men  returned  from  the  seas, 

Very  grateful  for  leave. 

They  grant  us  sudden  days 

Snatched  from  their  business  of  war; 

But  we  are  too  close  to  appraise 
What  manner  of  men  they  are. 

And,  whether  their  names  go  down 

With  age-kept  victories, 
Or  whether  they  battle  and  drown 

Unreckoned,  is  hid  from  our  eyes. 

They  are  too  near  to  be  great, 

But  our  children  shall  understand 
When  and  how  our  fate 

Was  changed,  and  by  whose  hand. 

Our  children  shall  measure  their  worth. 

We  are  content  to  be  blind     .     .     . 
But  we  know  that  we  walk  on  a  new-born  earth 

With  the  saviours  of  mankind. 


164  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  DESTROYERS 

1898 

T^ffE  strength  of  twice  three  thousand  horse 

That  seeks  the  single  goal; 
The  line  that  holds  the  rending  course, 

The  hate  that  swings  the  whole: 
The  stripped  hulls,  slinking  through  the  gloom, 

At  gaze  and  gone  again — 
The  Brides  of  Death  that  wait  the  groom — 

The  Choosers  of  the  Slain  ! 

Offshore  where  sea  and  skyline  blend 

In  rain,  the  daylight  dies; 
The  sullen,  shouldering  swells  attend 

Night  and  our  sacrifice. 
Adown  the  stricken  capes  no  flare — 

No  mark  on  spit  or  bar, — 
Girdled  and  desperate  we  dare 

The  blindfold  game  of  war. 

Nearer  the  up-flung  beams  that  spell 

The  council  of  our  foes; 
Clearer  the  barking  guns  that  tell 

Their  scattered  flank  to  close. 
Sheer  to  the  trap  they  crowd  their  way 

From  ports  for  this  unbarred. 
Quiet,  and  count  our  laden  prey, 

The  convoy  and  her  guard! 

On  shoal  with  scarce  a  foot  below, 

Where  rock  and  islet  throng, 
Hidden  and  hushed  we  watch  them  throw 

Their  anxious  lights  along. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  165 

Not  here,  not  here  your  danger  lies — 

(Stare  hard,  O  hooded  eyne!) 
Save  where  the  dazed  rock-pigeons  rise 
The  lit  cliffs  give  no  sign. 

Therefore — to  break  the  rest  ye  seek, 

The  Narrow  Seas  to  clear — 
Hark  to  the  siren's  whimpering  shriek — 

The  driven  death  is  here! 
Look  to  your  van  a  league  away, — 

What  midnight  terror  stays 
The  bulk  that  checks  against  the  spray 

Her  crackling  tops  ablaze? 

Hit,  and  hard  hit!     The  blow  went  home, 

The  muffled,  knocking  stroke — 
The  steam  that  overruns  the  foam — 

The  foam  that  thins  to  smoke — 
The  smoke  that  clokes  the  deep  aboil — 

The  deep  that  chokes  her  throes 
Till,  streaked  with  ash  and  sleeked  with  oil, 

The  lukewarm  whirlpools  close! 

A  shadow  down  the  sickened  wave 

Long  since  her  slayer  fled: 
But  hear  their  chattering  quick-fires  rave 

Astern,  abeam,  ahead! 
Panic  that  shells  the  drifting  spar — 

Loud  waste  with  none  to  check — 
Mad  fear  that  rakes  a  scornful  star 

Or  sweeps  a  consort's  deck. 

Now,  while  their  silly  smoke  hangs  thick, 

Now  ere  their  wits  they  find, 
Lay  in  and  lance  them  to  the  quick — 

Our  gallied  whales  are  blind! 


1 66  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Good  luck  to  those  that  see  the  end, 
Good-bye  to  those  that  drown — 

For  each  his  chance  as  chance  shall  send — 
And  God  for  all!     Shut  down  ! 

The  strength  of  twice  three  thousand  horse 

That  serve  the  one  command; 
The  hand  that  heaves  the  headlong  force, 

The  hate  that  backs  the  hand: 
The  doom-bolt  in  the  darkness  freed, 

The  mine  that  splits  the  main; 
The  white-hot  wake,  the  'wildering  speed — 

The  Choosers  of  the  Slain  ! 


WHITE  HORSES 

i  897 

JI/'HERE  run  your  colts  at  pasture  ? 

Where  hide  your  mares  to  breed  ? 
'Mid  bergs  about  the  Ice-cap 

Or  wove  Sargasso  weed; 
By  chartless  reef  and  channel, 

Or  crafty  coastwise  bars, 
But  most  the  ocean-meadows 
All  purple  to  the  stars! 

Who  holds  the  rein  upon  you  ? 

The  latest  gale  let  free. 
What  meat  is  in  your  mangers  ? 

The  glut  of  all  the  sea. 
'Twixt  tide  and  tide's  returning 

Great  store  of  newly  dead, — 
The  bones  of  those  that  faced  us, 

And  the  hearts  of  those  that  fled. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  167 

Afar,  off-shore  and  single, 

Some  stallion,  rearing  swift, 
Neighs  hungry  for  new  fodder, 

And  calls  us  to  the  drift: 
Then  down  the  cloven  ridges — 

A  million  hooves  unshod — 
Break  forth  the  mad  White  Horses 

To  seek  their  meat  from  God! 


Girth-deep  in  hissing  water 

Our  furious  vanguard  strains — 
Through  mist  of  mighty  tramplings 

Roll  up  the  fore-blown  manes — 
A  hundred  leagues  to  leeward, 

Ere  yet  the  deep  is  stirred, 
The  groaning  rollers  carry 

The  coming  of  the  herd! 


Whose  hand  may  grip  your  nostrils — 

Your  forelock  who  may  hold  ? 
E'en  they  that  use  the  broads  with  us- 

The  riders  bred  and  bold, 
That  spy  upon  our  matings, 

That  rope  us  where  we  run — 
They  know  the  strong  White  Horses 

From  father  unto  son. 


We  breathe  about  their  cradles, 

We  race  their  babes  ashore, 
We  snuff  against  their  thresholds, 

We  nuzzle  at  their  door; 
By  day  with  stamping  squadrons, 

By  night  in  whinnying  droves, 
Creep  up  the  wise  \Vhite  Horses, 

To  call  them  from  their  loves. 


168  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  come  they  for  your  calling  ? 

No  wit  of  man  may  save. 
They  hear  the  loosed  White  Horses 

Above  their  fathers'  grave; 
And,  kin  of  those  we  crippled, 

And,  sons  of  those  we  slew, 
Spur  down  the  wild  white  riders 

To  school  the  herds  anew. 

What  service  have  ye  paid  them, 

Oh  jealous  steeds  and  strong  ? 
Save  we  that  throw  their  weaklings, 

Is  none  dare  work  them  wrong; 
While  thick  around  the  homestead 

Our  snow-backed  leaders  graze — 
A  guard  behind  their  plunder, 

And  a  veil  before  their  ways. 

With  march  and  countermarchings — 

With  weight  of  wheeling  hosts — 
Stray  mob  or  bands  embattled — 

We  ring  the  chosen  coasts: 
And,  careless  of  our  clamour 

That  bids  the  stranger  fly, 
At  peace  within  our  pickets 

The  wild  white  riders  lie. 


Trust  ye  the  curdled  hollows — 

Trust  ye  the  neighing  wind — 
Trust  ye  the  moaning  groundswell — 

Our  herds  are  close  behind! 
To  bray  your  foeman's  armies — 

To  chill  and  snap  his  sword — 
Trust  ye  the  wild  White  Horses, 

The  Horses  of  the  Lord! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  169 

A  SONG  IN  STORM 

1914-18 

RE  WELL  assured  that  on  our  side 

The  abiding  oceans  fight, 
Though  headlong  wind  and  heaping  tide 

Make  us  their  sport  to-night. 
By  force  of  weather  not  of  war 

In  jeopardy  we  steer: 
Then  welcome  Fate's  discourtesy 
Whereby  it  shall  appear, 

How  in  all  time  of  our  distress, 
And  our  deliverance  too, 

rThe  game  is  more  than  the  player  of  the  game, 
And  the  ship  is  more  than  the  crew! 


Out  of  the  mist  into  the  mirk 

The  glimmering  combers  roll. 
Almost  these  mindless  waters  work 

As  though  they  had  a  soul — 
Almost  as  though  they  leagued  to  whelm 

Our  flag  beneath  their  green: 
Then  welcome  Fate's  discourtesy 

Whereby  it  shall  be  seen,  etc. 

Be  well  assured,  though  wave  and  wind 

Have  mightier  blows  in  store, 
That  we  who  keep  the  watch  assigned 

Must  stand  to  it  the  more; 
And  as  our  streaming  bows  rebuke 

Each  billow's  baulked  career, 
Sing,  welcome  Fate's  discourtesy 

Whereby  it  is  made  clear,  etc. 


170  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

•  No  matter  though  our  decks  be  swept 

And  mast  and  timber  crack — 
We  can  make  good  all  loss  except 

The  loss  of  turning  back. 
So,  'twixt  these  Devils  and  our  deep 

Let  courteous  trumpets  sound, 
To  welcome  Fate's  discourtesy 

Whereby  it  will  be  found,  etc. 

Be  well  assured,  though  in  our  power 

Is  nothing  left  to  give 
But  chance  and  place  to  meet  the  hour, 

And  leave  to  strive  to  live, 
Till  these  dissolve  our  Order  holds, 

Our  Service  binds  us  here. 
Then  welcome  Fate's  discourtesy 
Whereby  it  is  made  clear, 

How  in  all  time  of  our  distress, 

As  in  our  triumph  too, 

The  game  is  more  than  the  player  of  the  game, 

And  the  ship  is  more  than  the  crew! 


THE  DERELICT 

i  894 

'And  reports  the  derelict  'Mary  Pollock '  still  at  sea  " 

SHIPPING  NEWS. 

T  WAS  the  staunchest  of  our  fleet 
Till  the  sea  rose  beneath  my  feet 

"Unheralded^  in  hatred  past  all  measure. 
Into  his  pits  he  stamped  my  crewt 
Buffeted,  blinded,  bound  and  threwt 

Bidding  me  eyeless  wait  upon  his  pleasure. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  171 

Man  made  me,  and  my  will 

Is  to  my  maker  still, 
Whom  now  the  currents  con,  the  rollers  steer — 

Lifting  forlorn  to  spy 

Trailed  smoke  along  the  sky, 
Falling  afraid  lest  any  keel  come  near! 


Wrenched  as  the  lips  of  thirst, 

Wried,  dried,  and  split  and  burst, 
Bone-bleached  my  decks,  wind-scoured  to  the  graining; 

And,  jarred  at  every  roll, 

The  gear  that  was  my  soul 
Answers  the  anguish  of  my  beams'  complaining. 


For  life  that  crammed  me  full, 

Gangs  of  the  prying  gull 
That  shriek  and  scrabble  on  the  riven  hatches. 

For  roar  that  dumbed  the  gale, 

My  hawse-pipes'  guttering  wail, 
Sobbing  my  heart  out  through  the  uncounted  watches. 


Blind  in  the  hot  blue  ring 

Through  all  my  points  I  swing — 
Swing  and  return  to  shift  the  sun  anew. 

Blind  in  my  well-known  sky 

I  hear  the  stars  go  by, 
Mocking  the  prow  that  cannot  hold  one  true. 


White  on  my  wasted  path 

Wave  after  wave  in  wrath 
Frets  'gainst  his  fellow,  warring  where  to  send  me. 

Flung  forward,  heaved  aside, 

Witless  and  dazed  I  bide 
The  mercy  of  the  comber  that  shall  end  me. 


172  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

North  where  the  bergs  careen, 

The  spray  of  seas  unseen 
Smokes  round  my  head  and  freezes  in  the  falling. 

South  where  the  corals  breed, 

The  footless,  floating  weed 
Folds  me  and  fouls  me,  strake  on  strake  upcrawling. 

I  that  was  clean  to  run 

My  race  against  the  sun — 
Strength  on  the  deep — am  bawd  to  all  disaster; 

Whipped  forth  by  night  to  meet 

My  sister's  careless  feet, 
And  with  a  kiss  betray  her  to  my  master. 

Man  made  me,  and  my  will 

Is  to  my  maker  still — 
To  him  and  his,  our  peoples  at  their  pier: 

Lifting  in  hope  to  spy 

Trailed  smoke  along  the  sky, 
Falling  afraid  lest  any  keel  come  near! 


THE  MERCHANTMEN 

1  893 


SOLOMON  drew  merchantmen, 
Because  of  his  desire 
For  peacocks,  apes,  and  ivory, 

From  Tarshish  unto  Tyre, 
With  cedars  out  of  Lebanon 
Which  Hiram  rafted  down, 
But  we  be  only  sailormen 
That  use  in  London  town. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  173 

Coastwise — cross-seas — round  the  world  and  back  again — 
Where  the  flaw  shall  head  us  or  the  full  Trade  suits — 

Plain-sail — storm-sail — lay  your  board  and  tack  again — 
And  that's  the  way  we'll  pay  Paddy  Doyle  for  his  boots  ! 

We  bring  no  store  of  ingots, 

Of  spice  or  precious  stones, 
But  what  we  have  we  gathered 

With  sweat  and  aching  bones: 
In  flame  beneath  the  tropics, 

In  frost  upon  the  floe, 
And  jeopardy  of  every  wind 

That  does  between  them  go. 

And  some  we  got  by  purchase, 

And  some  we  had  by  trade, 
And  some  we  found  by  courtesy 

Of  pike  and  carronade — 
At  midnight,  'mid-sea  meetings, 

For  charity  to  keep, 
And  light  the  rolling  homeward-bound 

That  rode  a  foot  too  deep ! 

By  sport  of  bitter  weather 

We're  walty,  strained,  and  scarred 
From  the  kentledge  on  the  kelson 

To  the  slings  upon  the  yard. 
Six  oceans  had  their  will  of  us 

To  carry  all  away — 
Our  galley's  in  the  Baltic, 

And  our  boom's  in  Mossel  Bay! 

We've  floundered  off  the  Texel, 

Awash  with  sodden  deals, 
We've  slipped  from  Valparaiso 

With  the  Norther  at  our  heels: 


174  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We've  ratched  beyond  the  Cressets 

That  tusk  the  Southern  Pole, 
And  dipped  our  gunnels  under 

To  the  dread  Agulhas  roll. 

Beyond  all  outer  charting 

We  sailed  where  none  have  sailed, 
And  saw  the  land-lights  burning 

On  islands  none  have  hailed; 
Our  hair  stood  up  for  wonder, 

But,  when  the  night  was  done, 
There  danced  the  deep  to  windward 

Blue-empty  'neath  the  sun! 

Strange  consorts  rode  beside  us 

And  brought  us  evil  luck; 
The  witch-fire  climbed  our  channels, 

And  flared  on  vane  and  truck: 
Till,  through  the  red  tornado, 

That  lashed  us  nigh  to  blind, 
We  saw  The  Dutchman  plunging, 

Full  canvas,  head  to  wind! 

We've  heard  the  Midnight  Leadsman 

That  calls  the  black  deep  down — 
Ay,  thrice  we've  heard  The  Swimmer, 

The  Thing  that  may  not  drown. 
On  frozen  bunt  and  gasket 

The  sleet-cloud  drave  her  hosts, 
When,  manned  by  more  than  signed  with  us 

We  passed  the  Isle  of  Ghosts! 

And  north,  amid  the  hummocks, 

A  biscuit-toss  below, 
We  met  the  silent  shallop 

That  frighted  whalers  know; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  175 

For,  down  a  cruel  ice-lane, 

That  opened  as  he  sped, 
We  saw  dead  Hendrick  Hudson 

Steer,  North  by  West,  his  dead. 

So  dealt  God's  waters  with  us 

Beneath  the  roaring  skies, 
So  walked  His  signs  and  marvels 

All  naked  to  our  eyes: 
But  we  were  heading  homeward 

With  trade  to  lose  or  make — 
Good  Lord,  they  slipped  behind  us 

In  the  tailing  of  our  wake! 

Let  go,  let  go  the  anchors; 

Now  shamed  at  heart  are  we 
To  bring  so  poor  a  cargo  home 

That  had  for  gift  the  sea! 
Let  go  the  great  bow-anchor — 

Ah,  fools  were  we  and  blind — 
The  worst  we  stored  with  utter  toil, 

The  best  we  left  behind! 

Coastwise — cross-seas — round  the  world  and  back  again, 
Whither  flaw  shall  fail  us  or  the  Trades  drive  down: 

Plain-sail — storm-sail — lay  your  board  and  tack  again — 
And  all  to  bring  a  cargo  up  to  London  Town  I 


THE  SONG  OF  DIEGO  VALDEZ 

1902 

'"THE  God  of  Fair  Beginnings 

Hath  prospered  here  my  hand — 
The  cargoes  of  my  lading, 

And  the  keels  of  my  command. 


176  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  out  of  many  ventures 
That  sailed  with  hope  as  high, 

My  own  have  made  the  better  trade, 
And  Admiral  am  I. 

To  me  my  King's  much  honour, 

To  me  my  people's  love — 
To  me  the  pride  of  Princes 

And  power  all  pride  above; 
To  me  the  shouting  cities, 

To  me  the  mob's  refrain: — 
"Who  knows  not  noble  Valdez, 

"Hath  never  heard  of  Spain." 

But  I  remember  comrades — 

Old  playmates  on  new  seas — 
Whenas  we  traded  orpiment 

Among  the  savages — 
A  thousand  leagues  to  south'ard 

And  thirty  years  removed — 
They  knew  not  noble  Valdez, 

But  me  they  knew  and  loved. 

Then  they  that  found  good  liquor, 

They  drank  it  not  alone, 
And  they  that  found  fair  plunder, 

They  told  us  every  one, 
About  our  chosen  islands 

Or  secret  shoals  between, 
When,  weary  from  far  voyage, 

We  gathered  to  careen. 

There  burned  our  breaming-fagots 
All  pale  along  the  shore: 

There  rose  our  worn  pavilions — 
A  sail  above  an  oar: 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  177 

As  flashed  each  yearning  anchor 

Through  mellow  seas  afire, 
So  swift  our  careless  captains 

Rowed  each  to  his  desire. 


Where  lay  our  loosened  harness? 

Where  turned  our  naked  feet? 
Whose  tavern  'mid  the  palm-trees? 

What  quenchings  of  what  heat? 
Oh  fountain  in  the  desert! 

Oh  cistern  in  the  waste! 
Oh  bread  we  ate  in  secret! 

Oh  cup  we  spilled  in  haste! 

The  youth  new-taught  of  longing, 

The  widow  curbed  and  wan, 
The  goodwife  proud  at  season, 

And  the  maid  aware  of  man — 
All  souls  unslaked,  consuming 

Defrauded  in  delays, 
Desire  not  more  their  quittance 

Than  I  those  forfeit  days! 

I  dreamed  to  wait  my  pleasure 

Unchanged  my  spring  would  bide: 
Wherefore,  to  wait  my  pleasure, 

I  put  my  spring  aside 
Till,  first  in  face  of  Fortune, 

And  last  in  mazed  disdain, 
I  made  Diego  Valdez 

High  Admiral  of  Spain. 

Then  walked  no  wind  'neath  Heaven 
Nor  surge  that  did  not  aid — 

I  dared  extreme  occasion, 
Nor  ever  one  betrayed. 


i ;8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  wrought  a  deeper  treason — 
(Led  seas  that  served  my  needs!) 

They  sold  Diego  Valdez 
To  bondage  of  great  deeds. 

The  tempest  flung  me  seaward, 

And  pinned  and  bade  me  hold 
The  course  I  might  not  alter — 

And  men  esteemed  me  bold! 
The  calms  embayed  my  quarry, 

The  fog-wreath  sealed  his  eyes; 
The  dawn-wind  brought  my  topsails — 

And  men  esteemed  me  wise! 

Yet  'spite  my  tyrant  triumphs 

Bewildered,  dispossessed — 
My  dream  held  I  before  me — 

My  vision  of  my  rest; 
But,  crowned  by  Fleet  and  People, 

And  bound  by  King  and  Pope — 
Stands  here  Diego  Valdez 

To  rob  me  of  my  hope. 

No  prayer  of  mine  shall  move  him, 

No  word  of  his  set  free 
The  Lord  of  Sixty  Pennants 

And  the  Steward  of  the  Sea. 
His  will  can  loose  ten  thousand 

To  seek  their  loves  again — 
But  not  Diego  Valdez, 

High  Admiral  of  Spain. 

There  walks  no  wind  'neath  Heaven 
Nor  wave  that  shall  restore 

The  old  careening  riot 

And  the  clamorous,  crowded  shore — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  179 

The  fountain  in  the  desert, 

The  cistern  in  the  waste, 
The  bread  we  ate  in  secret, 

The  cup  we  spilled  in  haste. 

Now  call  I  to  my  Captains — 

For  council  fly  the  sign, 
Now  leap  their  zealous  galleys, 

Twelve-oared,  across  the  brine. 
To  me  the  straiter  prison, 

To  me  the  heavier  chain — 
To  me  Diego  Valdez, 

High  Admiral  of  Spain! 


THE  SECOND  VOYAGE 

i  903 

\\7"E'VE  sent  our  little  Cupids  all  ashore — 

They  were  frightened,  they  were  tired,  they  were 

cold: 
Our  sails  of  silk  and  purple  go  to  store, 

And  we've  cut  away  our  mast  of  beaten  gold 

(Foul  weather!) 

Oh  'tis  hemp  and  singing  pine  for  to  stand  against  the  brine, 
But  Love  he  is  our  master  as  of  old! 

The  sea  has  shorn  our  galleries  away, 

The  salt  has  soiled  our  gilding  past  remede; 

Our  paint  is  flaked  and  blistered  by  the  spray, 
Our  sides  are  half  a  fathom  furred  in  weed 
(Foul  weather!) 

And  the  Doves  of  Venus  fled  and  the  petrels  came  instead, 
But  Love  he  was  our  master  at  our  need! 


i8o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

'Was  Youth  would  keep  no  vigil  at  the  bow, 

'Was  Pleasure  at  the  helm  too  drunk  to  steer — 
We've  shipped  three  able  quartermasters  now. 
Men  call  them  Custom,  Reverence,  and  Fear 

(Foul  weather!) 
They  are  old  and  scarred  and  plain,  but  we'll  run  no  risk 

again 
From  any  Port  o'  Paphos  mutineer! 

We  seek  no  more  the  tempest  for  delight, 

We  skirt  no  more  the  indraught  and  the  shoal — 

We  ask  no  more  of  any  day  or  night 

Than  to  come  with  least  adventure  to  our  goal 
(Foul  weather!) 

What  we  find  we  needs  must  brook,  but  we  do  not  go  to  look, 
Nor  tempt  the  Lord  our  God  that  saved  us  whole. 


Yet,  caring  so,  not  overmuch  we  care 

To  brace  and  trim  for  every  foolish  blast, 
If  the  squall  be  pleased  to  sweep  us  unaware, 
He  may  bellow  off  to  leeward  like  the  last 

(Foul  weather!) 
\Ve  will  blame  it  on  the  deep  (for  the  watch  must  have  their 

sleep), 
And  Love  can  come  and  wake  us  when  'tis  past. 


Oh  launch  them  down  with  music  from  the  beach, 

Oh  warp  them  out  with  garlands  from  the  quays — 
Most  resolute — a  damsel  unto  each — 
New  prows  that  seek  the  old  Hesperides! 

(Foul  weather!) 
Though  we  know  their  voyage  is  vain,  yet  we  see  our  path 

again 

In  the  saffroned  bridesails  scenting  all  the  seas! 
(Foul  weather!) 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  181 

THE  OLDEST  SONG 

For  before  Eve  was  Lilith.— Old  Tale. 

'""THESE  were  never  your  true  love's  eyes. 

Why  do  you  feign  that  you  love  them? 
You  that  broke  from  their  constancies, 
And  the  wide  calm  brows  above  them! 

This  was  never  your  true  love's  speech. 

Why  do  you  thrill  when  you  hear  it? 
You  that  have  ridden  out  of  its  reach 

The  width  of  the  world  or  near  it! 

This  was  never  your  true  love's  hair, — 

You  that  chafed  when  it  bound  you 
Screened  from  knowledge  or  shame  or  care, 

In  the  night  that  it  made  around  you!" 

"All  these  things  I  know,  I  know. 

And  that's  why  my  heart  is  breaking!" 
"Then  what  do  you  gain  by  pretending  so?" 

"The  joy  of  an  old  wound  waking" 


THE  LINER  SHE'S  A  LADY 

i  894 

HTHE  Liner  she's  a  lady,  an'  she  never  looks  nor  'eeds — 
The  Man-o'-War's  *er  'usband,  an'  'e  gives  'er  all  she 

needs; 

But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats,  that  sail  the  wet  seas  roun', 
They're  just  the  same  as  you  an'  me  a-plyin'  up  an'  down! 


1 82  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Ply  in*  up  an'  down,  Jenny,  'angin  round  the  Yard, 

All  the  way  by    Fratton  tram  down  to  Portsmouth   'Ard; 

Any  thin'  for  business,  an'  we're  growin'  old — 

Plyin'  up  an'  down,  Jenny,  waitin'  in  the  cold  ! 


The  Liner  she's  a  lady  by  the  paint  upon  'er  face, 
An'  if  she  meets  an  accident  they  count  it  sore  disgrace. 
The  Man-o '-War's  'er  'usband,  and  'e  's  always  'andy  by, 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats,  they've  got  to  load  or  die! 


The  Liner  she's  a  lady,  and  'er  route  is  cut  an'  dried; 
The  Man-o'- War's  'er  'usband,  an'  "e  always  keeps  beside; 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats  that  'aven't  any  man, 
They've  got  to  do  their  business  first,  and  make  the  most  they 


The  Liner  she's  a  lady,  and  if  a  war  should  come, 
The  Man-o'-War's  'er  'usband,  and  'e'd  bid  'er  stay  at  home; 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats  that  fill  with  every  tide! 
'E'd  'ave  to  up  an'  fight  for  them  for  they  are  England's  pride. 


The  Liner  she's  a  lady,  but  if  she  was  n't  made, 

There  still  would  be  the  cargo-boats  for  'ome  an'  foreign 

trade. 

The  Man-o'-War's  'er  'usband,  but  if  we  wasn't  'ere, 
'E  would  n't  have  to  fight  at  all  for  'ome  an'  friends  so  dear. 


'Ome  an'  friends  so  dear,  Jenny,  'angin'  round  the  Yard, 
All  the  way  by  Fratton  tram  down  to  Portsmouth  'Ard; 
Anythin'  for  business,  an'  we're  growin   old — 
'Ome  an'  friends  so  dear,  Jenny,  waitin'  in  the  cold  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  183 

THE  FIRST  CHANTEY 

1896 

V/f INE  was  the  woman  to  me,  darkling  I  found  her: 

Haling  her  dumb  from  the  camp,  held  her  and  bound 

her. 

Hot  rose  her  tribe  on  our  track  ere  I  had  proved  her; 
Hearing  her  laugh  in  the  gloom,  greatly  I  loved  her. 

Swift  through  the  forest  we  ran,  none  stood  to  guard  us, 
Few  were  my  people  and  far;  then  the  flood  barred  us — 
Him  we  call  Son  of  the  Sea,  sullen  and  swollen. 
Panting  we  waited  the  death,  stealer  and  stolen. 

Yet  ere  they  came  to  my  lance  laid  for  the  slaughter, 
Lightly  she  leaped  to  a  log  lapped  in  the  water; 
Holding  on  high  and  apart  skins  that  arrayed  her, 
Called  she  the  God  of  the  Wind  that  He  should  aid  her. 

Life  had  the  tree  at  that  word  (Praise  we  the  Giver!) 
Otter-like  left  he  the  bank  for  the  full  river. 
Far  fell  their  axes  behind,  flashing  and  ringing, 
Wonder  was  on  me  and  fear — yet  she  was  singing! 

Low  lay  the  land  we  had  left.     Now  the  blue  bound  us, 
Even  the  Floor  of  the  Gods  level  around  us. 
WThisper  there  was  not,  nor  word,  shadow  nor  showing, 
Till  the  light  stirred  on  the  deep,  glowing  and  growing. 

Then  did  He  leap  to  His  place  flaring  from  under, 
He  the  Compeller/the  Sun,  bared  to  our  wonder. 
Nay,  not  a  league  from  our  eyes  blinded  with  gazing, 
Cleared  He  the  Gate  of  the  World,  huge  and  amazing! 


1 84  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

This  we  beheld  (and  we  live) — the  Pit  of  the  Burning! 
Then  the  God  spoke  to  the  tree  for  our  returning; 
Back  to  the  beach  of  our  flight,  fearless  and  slowly, 
Back  to  our  slayers  went  he:  but  we  were  holy. 

Men  that  were  hot  in  that  hunt,  women  that  followed, 
Babes  that  were  promised  our  bones,  trembled  and  wallowed. 
Over  the  necks  of  the  Tribe  crouching  and  fawning — 
Prophet  and  priestess  we  came  back  from  the  dawning! 


THE  LAST  CHANTEY 

1892 

"And there  was  no  more  sea" 

said  the  Lord  in  the  Vault  above  the  Cherubim, 
Calling  to  the  Angels  and  the  Souls  in  their  degree: 
"Lo!     Earth  has  passed  away 
On  the  smoke  of  Judgment  Day. 

That  Our  word  may  be  established  shall  We  gather  up  the 
sea?" 

Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners: 

"Plague  upon  the  hurricane  that  made  us  furl  and  flee! 
But  the  war  is  done  between  us, 
In  the  deep  the  Lord  hath  seen  us — 

Our  bones  we'll  leave  the  barracout',  and  God  may  sink 
the  sea!" 

Then  said  the  soul  of  Judas  that  betrayed  Him: 

"Lord,  hast  Thou  forgotten  Thy  covenant  with  me? 
How  once  a  year  I  go 
To  cool  me  on  the  floe? 
And  Ye  take  my  day  of  mercy  if  Ye  take  away  the  sea. " 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  185 

Then  said  the  soul  of  the  Angel  of  the  Off-shore  Wind : 
(He  that  bits  the  thunder  when  the  bull-mouthed  breakers 

flee): 

"I  have  watch  and  ward  to  keep 
O'er  Thy  wonders  on  the  deep, 
And  Ye  take  mine  honour  from  me  if  Ye  take  away  the 


Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners: 

"Nay,  but  we  were  angry,  and  a  hasty  folk  are  we. 
If  we  worked  the  ship  together 
Till  she  foundered  in  foul  weather, 

Are  we  babes  that  we  should  clamour  for  a  vengeance  on 
the  sea?" 


Then  said  the  souls  of  the  slaves  that  men  threw  overboard: 
"Kennelled  in  the  picaroon  a  weary  band  were  we; 
But  Thy  arm  was  strong  to  save, 
And  it  touched  us  on  the  wave, 

And  we  drowsed  the  long  tides  idle  till  Thy  Trumpets  tore 
the  sea." 


Then  cried  the  soul  of  the  stout  Apostle  Paul  to  God: 
"Once  we  frapped  a  ship,  and  she  laboured  woundily. 
There  were  fourteen  score  of  these, 
And  they  blessed  Thee  on  their  knees, 
When  they  learned  Thy  Grace  and  Glory  under  Malta  by 
the  sea!" 


Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners, 

Plucking  at  their  harps,  and  they  plucked  unhandily: 
"Our  thumbs  are  rough  and  tarred, 
And  the  tune  is  something  hard — 

May  we  lift  a  Deepsea  Chantey  such  as  seamen  use  at 
sea?" 


1 86  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  said  the  souls  of  the  gentlemen-adventurers — 
Fettered  wrist  to  bar  all  for  red  iniquity: 

"Ho,  we  revel  in  our  chains 

O'er  the  sorrow  that  was  Spain's; 
Heave  or  sink  it,  leave  or  drink  it,  we  were  masters  of  the 


Up  spake  the  soul  of  a  grey  Gothavn  'speckshioner — 

(He  that  led  the  flenching  in  the  fleets  of  fair  Dundee): 
"Oh,  the  ice-blink  white  and  near, 
And  the  bowhead  breaching  clear! 

Will  Ye  whelm  them  all  for  wantonness  that  wallow  in  the 
sea?" 


Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners, 

Crying:  "Under  Heaven,  here  is  neither  lead  nor  lee! 
Must  we  sing  for  evermore 
On  the  windless,  glassy  floor? 
Take  back  your  golden  riddles  and  we'll  beat  to  open  sea!" 


Then  stooped  the  Lord,  and  He  called  the  good  sea  up  to 

Him, 

And  'stablished  its  borders  unto  all  eternity, 
That  such  as  have  no  pleasure 
For  to  praise  the  Lord  by  measure, 
They  may  enter  into  galleons  and  serve  Him  on  the  sea. 


Sun,  Wind,  and  Cloud  shall  fail  not  from  the  face  of  it, 
Stinging,  ringing  spindrift,  nor  the  fulmar  flying  free; 
And  the  ships  shall  go  abroad 
To  the  Glory  of  the  Lord 
Who  heard  the  silly  sailor-folk  and  gave  them  back  their  sea  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  187 

THE  EXILES'  LINE 

1890 

"M"OW  the  new  year  reviving  old  desires, 

The  restless  soul  to  open  sea  aspires, 
Where  the  Blue  Peter  flickers  from  the  fore, 
And  the  grimed  stoker  feeds  the  engine-fires. 

Coupons,  alas,  depart  with  all  their  rows, 

And  last  year's  sea-met  loves  where  Grindlay  knows; 

But  still  the  wild  wind  wakes  of  Gardafui, 
And  hearts  turn  eastward  with  the  P.  and  O's. 


Twelve  knots  an  hour,  be  they  more  or  less — 
Oh  slothful  mother  of  much  idleness, 

Whom  neither  rivals  spur  nor  contracts  speed! 
Nay,  bear  us  gently!     Wherefore  need  we  press? 

The  Tragedy  of  all  our  East  is  laid 
On  those  white  decks  beneath  the  awning  shade — 
Birth,  absence,  longing,  laughter,  love  and  tears, 
And  death  unmaking  ere  the  land  is  made. 

And  midnight  madnesses  of  souls  distraught 
Whom  the  cool  seas  call  through  the  open  port, 
So  that  the  table  lacks  one  place  next  morn, 
And  for  one  forenoon  men  forego  their  sport. 

The  shadow  of  the  rigging  to  and  fro 

Sways,  shifts,  and  flickers  on  the  spar-deck's  snow, 

And  like  a  giant  trampling  in  his  chains, 
The  screw-blades  gasp  and  thunder  deep  below; 


188  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And,  leagued  to  watch  one  flying-fish's  wings, 
Heaven  stoops  to  sea,  and  sea  to  Heaven  clings; 

While,  bent  upon  the  ending  of  his  toil, 
The  hot  sun  strides,  regarding  not  these  things: 

For  the  same  wave  that  meets  our  stem  in  spray 
Bore  Smith  of  Asia  eastward  yesterday, 

And  Delhi  Jones  and  Brown  of  Midnapore 
To-morrow  follow  on  the  self-same  way. 

Linked  in  the  chain  of  Empire  one  by  one, 
Flushed  with  long  leave,  or  tanned  with  many  a  sun, 

The  Exiles'  Line  brings  out  the  exiles'  line 
And  ships  them  homeward  when  their  work  is  done. 

Yea,  heedless  of  the  shuttle  through  the  loom, 
The  flying  keels  fulfil  the  web  of  doom. 

Sorrow  or  shouting — what  is  that  to  them? 
Make  out  the  cheque  that  pays  for  cabin  room ! 

And  how  so  many  score  of  times  ye  flit 
With  wife  and  babe  and  caravan  of  kit, 

Not  all  thy  travels  past  shall  lower  one  fare, 
Not  all  thy  tears  abate  one  pound  of  it. 

And  how  so  high  thine  earth-born  dignity, 
Honour  and  state,  go  sink  it  in  the  sea, 

Till  that  great  one  upon  the  quarter  deck, 
Brow-bound  with  gold,  shall  give  thee  leave  to  be. 

Indeed,  indeed  from  that  same  line  we  swear 
Off  for  all  time,  and  mean  it  when  we  swear; 

And  then,  and  then  we  meet  the  Quartered  Flag, 
And,  surely  for  the  last  time,  pay  the  fare. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  189 

And  Green  of  Kensington,  estrayed  to  view 

In  three  short  months  the  world  he  never  knew, 

Stares  with  blind  eyes  upon  the  Quartered  Flag 
And  sees  no  more  than  yellow,  red  and  blue. 

But  we,  the  gypsies  of  the  East,  but  we — 
Waifs  of  the  land  and  wastrels  of  the  sea — 

Come  nearer  home  beneath  the  Quartered  Flag 
Than  ever  home  shall  come  to  such  as  we. 


The  camp  is  struck,  the  bungalow  decays, 
Dead  friends  and  houses  desert  mark  our  ways, 

Till  sickness  send  us  down  to  Prince's  Dock 
To  meet  the  changeless  use  of  many  days. 

Bound  in  the  wheel  of  Empire,  one  by  one, 
The  chain-gangs  of  the  East  from  sire  to  son, 

The  Exiles'  Line  takes  out  the  exiles'  line 
And  ships  them  homeward  when  their  work  is  done. 

How  runs  the  old  indictment?     "Dear  and  slow," 
So  much  and  twice  so  much.     We  gird,  but  go. 

For  all  the  soul  of  our  sad  East  is  there, 
Beneath  the  house-flag  of  the  P.  and  O. 


THE  LONG  TRAIL 

HPHERE'S  a  whisper  down  the  field  where  the  year  has 

shot  her  yield, 

And  the  ricks  stand  grey  to  the  sun, 
Singing:  "Over  then,  come  over,  for  the  bee  has  quit  the 

clover, 
"And  your  English  summer's  done." 


1 90  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

You  have  heard  the  beat  of  the  off-shore  wind, 

And  the  thresh  of  the  deep-sea  rain; 

You  have  heard  the  song — how  long?  how  long? 

Pull  out  on  the  trail  again ! 
Ha'  done  with  the  Tents  of  Shem,  dear  lass, 
We've  seen  the  seasons  through, 
And  it's  time  to  turn  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the 

out  trail, 

Pull  out,  pull  out,  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is 
always  new! 

It's  North  you  may  run  to  the  rime-ringed  sun 

Or  South  to  the  blind  Horn's  hate; 
Or  East  all  the  way  into  Mississippi  Bay, 
Or  West  to  the  Golden  Gate — 

Where  the  blindest  bluffs  hold  good,  dear  lass, 

And  the  wildest  tales  are  true, 

And  the  men  bulk  big  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 

And  life  runs  large  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that 
is  always  new. 

The  days  are  sick  and  cold,  and  the  skies  are  grey  and  old, 

And  the  twice-breathed  airs  blow  damp; 
And  I'd  sell  my  tired  soul  for  the  bucking  beam-sea  roll 
Of  a  black  Bilbao  tramp, 

With  her  load-line  over  her  hatch,  dear  lass, 

And  a  drunken  Dago  crew, 

And  her  nose  held  down  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail 

From  Cadiz  south  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that 
is  always  new. 

There  be  triple  ways  to  take,  of  the  eagle  or  the  snake, 

Or  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid; 
But  the  sweetest  way  to  me  is  a  ship's  upon  the  sea 

In  the  heel  of  the  North-East  Trade. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  191 

Can  you  hear  the  crash  on  her  bows,  dear  lass, 

And  the  drum  of  the  racing  screw, 

As  she  ships  it  green  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 
As  she  lifts  and  'scends  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail 

that  is  always  new? 


See  the  shaking  funnels  roar,  with  the  Peter  at  the  fore, 

And  the  fenders  grind  and  heave, 
And  the  derricks  clack  and  grate,  as  the  tackle  hooks  the 

crate, 

And  the  fall-rope  whines  through  the  sheave; 
It's  "Gang-plank  up  and  in,"  dear  lass, 
It's  "Hawsers  warp  her  through!" 
And  it's  "All  clear  aft"  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 

We're  backing  down  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that 
is  always  new. 

O  the  mutter  overside,  when  the  port-fog  holds  us  tied, 

And  the  sirens  hoot  their  dread, 

When  foot  by  foot  we  creep  o'er  the  hueless  viewless  deep 
To  the  sob  of  the  questing  lead! 

It's  down  by  the  Lower  Hope,  dear  lass, 

With  the  Gunfleet  Sands  in  view, 

Till  the  Mouse  swings  green  on  the  old  trail,  our  own 

trail,  the  out  trail, 

And  the  Gull  Light  lifts  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail 
that  is  always  new. 

O  the  blazing  tropic  night,  when  the  wake's  a  welt  of  light 

That  holds  the  hot  sky  tame, 

And  the  steady  fore-foot  snores  through  the  planet-powdered 
floors 

Where  the  scared  whale  flukes  in  flame! 


192  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Her  plates  are  flaked  by  the  sun,  dear  lass, 

And  her  ropes  are  taut  with  the  dew, 

For  we're  booming  down  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 
We're  sagging  south  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that 

is  always  new. 


Then  home,  get  her  home,  where  the  drunken  rollers  comb, 

And  the  shouting  seas  drive  by, 
And  the  engines  stamp  and  ring,  and  the  wet  bows  reel  and 

swing, 
And  the  Southern  Cross  rides  high! 

Yes,  the  old  lost  stars  wheel  back,  dear  lass, 

That  blaze  in  the  velvet  blue. 

They're  all  old  friends  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 

They're  God's  own  guide  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail 
that  is  always  new. 


Fly  forward,  O  my  heart,  from  the  Foreland  to  the  Start — 

We're  steaming  all  too  slow, 

And  it's  twenty  thousand  mile  to  our  little  lazy  isle 
Where  the  trumpet-orchids  blow! 

You  have  heard  the  call  of  the  off-shore  wind 
And  the  voice  of  the  deep-sea  rain; 
You  have  heard  the  song.     How  long — how  long? 
Pull  out  on  the  trail  again! 


The  Lord  knows  what  we  may  find,  dear  lass, 

And  The  Deuce  knows  what  we  may  do — 

But  we're  back  once  more  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 
We're  down,  hull-down,  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail 

that  is  always  new! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918 

IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ONE  COMPASS 

1892 

\\/"HEN,  foot  to  wheel  and  back  to  wind, 
The  helmsman  dare  not  look  behind, 
But  hears  beyond  his  compass-light, 
The  blind  bow  thunder  through  the  night, 
And,  like  a  harpstring  ere  it  snaps, 
The  rigging  sing  beneath  the  caps; 
Above  the  shriek  of  storm  in  sail 

Or  rattle  of  the  blocks  blown  free, 
Set  for  the  peace  beyond  the  gale, 
This  song  the  Needle  sings  the  Sea: 


Oh,  drunken  Wave  !     Oh,  driving  Cloud  ! 

Rage  of  the  Deep  and  sterile  Rain, 
By  Love  upheld,  by  God  allowed, 

We  go,  but  we  return  again  ! 


When  leagued  about  the  'wildered  boat 
The  rainbow  Jellies  fill  and  float, 
And,  lilting  where  the  laver  lingers, 
The  Starfish  trips  on  all  her  fingers; 
Where,  'neath  his  myriad  spines  ashock, 
The  Sea-egg  ripples  down  the  rock, 
An  orange  wonder  dimly  guessed 
From  darkness  where  the  Cuttles  rest, 
Moored  o'er  the  darker  deeps  that  hide 
The  blind  white  Sea-snake  and  his  bride, 
Who,  drowsing,  nose  the  long-lost  Ships 
Let  down  through  darkness  to  their  lips — 
Safe-swung  above  the  glassy  death, 
Hear  what  the  constant  Needle  saith: 


194  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Oh,  lisping  Reef  I    Oh,  listless  Cloud, 
In  slumber  on  a  pulseless  main  ! 

By  Love  upheld,  by  God  allowed, 
We  go,  but  we  return  again  ! 

E'en  so  through  Tropic  and  through  Trade, 

Awed  by  the  shadow  of  new  skies, 
As  we  shall  watch  old  planets  fade 

And  mark  the  stranger  stars  arise, 
'  So,  surely,  back  through  Sun  and  Cloud, 

So,  surely,  from  the  outward  main 
By  Love  recalled,  by  God  allowed, 

Shall  we  return — return  again! 

Yea,  we  return — return  again ! 


A  SONG  OF  THE  ENGLISH 

i  893 

is  our  lot — 0  goodly  is  our  heritage  ! 
(Humble  ye,  my  people,  and  be  fearful  in  your  mirth  /) 
For  the  Lord  our  God  Most  High 
He  hath  made  the  deep  as  dry, 
He  hath  smote  for  us  a  pathway  to  the  ends  of  all  the  Earth  ! 

Yea,  though  we  sinned,  and  our  rulers  went  from  righteousness — 
Deep  in  all  dishonour  though  we  stained  our  garments'  hem, 

Oh  be  ye  not  dismayed, 

Though  we  stumbled  and  we  strayed, 
Ife  were  led  by  evil  counsellors — the  Lord  shall  deal  with  them  / 

Hold  ye  the  Faith — the  Faith  our  Fathers  seared  us; 
Whoring  not  with  visions — overwise  and  overstate. 

Except  ye  pay  the  Lord 

Single  heart  and  single  sword, 
Of  your  children  in  their  bondage  He  shall  ask  them  treble-tale! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  195 

Keep  ye  the  Law — be  swift  in  all  obedience — 

Clear  the  land  of  evil,  drive  the  road  and  bridge  the  ford. 

Make  ye  sure  to  each  his  own 

That  he  reap  where  he  hath  sown; 
By  the  peace  among  Our  peoples  let  men  know  we  serve  the  Lord  ! 


Hear  now  a  song — a  song  of  broken  interludes — 
A  song  of  little  cunning;  of  a  singer  nothing  worth. 

Through  the  naked  words  and  mean 

May  ye  see  the  truth  between. 
As  the  singer  knew  and  touched  it  in  the  ends  of  all  the  Earth  ! 


THE  COASTWISE  LIGHTS 

f~^UR  brows  are  bound  with  spindrift  and  the  weed  is  on 

our  knees; 
Our  loins  are  battered  'neath  us  by  the  swinging,  smoking 

seas. 
From  reef  and  rock  and  skerry — over  headland,  ness,  and 

voe — 
The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  watch  the  ships  of  England 

go! 

Through  the  endless  summer  evenings,  on  the  lineless,  level 

floors; 
Through  the  yelling  Channel  tempest  when  the  siren  hoots 

and  roars — 
By  day  the  dipping  house-flag  and  by  night  the  rocket's 

trail — 
As  the  sheep  that  graze  behind  us  so  we  know  them  where 

thev  hail. 


196  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We  bridge  across  the  dark,  and  bid  the  helmsman  have  a  care, 
The  flash  that,  wheeling  inland,  wakes  his  sleeping  wife  to 

prayer. 
From  our  vexed  eyries,  head  to  gale,  we  bind  in  burning 

chains 
The   lover  from   the  sea-rim   drawn — his  love   in  English 

lanes. 

We  greet  the  clippers  wing-and-wing  that  race  the  Southern 

wool; 
We  warn  the  crawling  cargo-tanks  of  Bremen,  Leith,  and 

Hull; 

To  each  and  all  our  equal  lamp  at  peril  of  the  sea — 
The  white  wall-sided  warships  or  the  whalers  of  Dundee! 

Come  up,  come  in  from  Eastward,  from  the  guardports  of  the 

Morn! 

Beat  up,  beat  in  from  Southerly,  O  gipsies  of  the  Horn! 
Swift  shuttles  of  an  Empire's  loom  that  weave  us  main  to 

main, 
The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  give  you  welcome  back 


Go,  get  you  gone  up-Channel  with  the  sea-crust  on  your 

plates; 

Go,  get  you  into  London  with  the  burden  of  your  freights! 
Haste,  for  they  talk  of  Empire  there,  and  say,  if  any  seek, 
The  Lights  of  England  sent  you  and  by  silence  shall  ye  speak! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  DEAD 

J-JEAR  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead — in  the  North  by  the  torn 

berg-edges — 
They  that  look  still  to  the  Pole,  asleep  by  their  hide-stripped 

sledges. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  197 

Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  South — in  the  sun  by  their  skeleton 

horsesy 
Where  the  warrigal  whimpers  and  bays  through  the  dust  of 

the  sere  river-courses. 

Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  East — in  the  heat-rotted  jungle-hollows ', 

Where  the  dog-ape  barks  in  the  kloof — in  the  brake  of  the  buffalo- 
wallows. 

Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  West — in  the  Barrens^  the  pass  that 
betrayed  them, 

Where  the  wolverine  tumbles  their  packs  from  the  camp  and 
the  grave-mound  they  made  them; 

Hear  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead  ! 

I 

We  were  dreamers,  dreaming  greatly,  in   the  man-stifled 

town; 
We  yearned  beyond  the  sky-line  where  the  strange  roads  go 

down. 
Came  the  Whisper,  came  the  Vision,  came  the  Power  with  the 

Need, 

Till  the  Soul  that  is  not  man's  soul  was  lent  us  to  lead. 
As  the  deer  breaks — as  the  steer  breaks — from   the  herd 

where  they  graze, 

In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  went  on  our  ways. 
Then  the  wood  failed — then  the  food  failed — then  the  last 

water  dried — 

In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  lay  down  and  died. 
On  the  sand-drift — on  the  veldt-side — in  the  fern-scrub  we 

lay, 

That  our  sons  might  follow  after  by  the  bones  on  the  way. 
Follow  after — follow  after !     We  have  watered  the  root, 
And  the  bud  has  come  to  blossom  that  ripens  for  fruit! 
Follow  after — we  are  waiting,  by  the  trails  that  we  lost, 
For  the  sounds  of  many  footsteps,  for  the  tread  of  a  host. 
Follow  after — follow  after — for  the  harvest  is  sown: 
By  the  bones  about  the  wayside  ye  shall  come  to  your  own! 


198  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

When  Drake  went  down  to  the  Horn 
And  England  was  crowned  thereby , 

'Twixt  seas  unsailed  and  shores  unhailed 
Our  Lodge — our  Lodge  was  born 
(And  England  was  crowned  thereby  /) 

Which  never  shall  close  again 

By  day  nor  yet  by  night , 
While  man  shall  take  his  life  to  stake 

At  risk  of  shoal  or  main 

(By  day  nor  yet  by  night) 

But  standeth  even  so 

As  now  we  witness  herey 
While  men  depart,  of  joyful  hearty 

Adventure  for  to  know 

(As  now  bear  witness  here  /) 

II 

We  have  fed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years 

And  she  calls  us,  still  unfed, 
Though  there's  never  a  wave  of  all  her  waves 

But  marks  our  English  dead: 
We  have  strawed  our  best  to  the  weed's  unrest, 

To  the  shark  and  the  sheering  gull. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  in  full! 

There's  never  a  flood  goes  shoreward  now 

But  lifts  a  keel  we  manned; 
There's  never  an  ebb  goes  seaward  now 

But  drops  our  dead  on  the  sand — 
But  slinks  our  dead  on  the  sands  forlore, 

From  the  Ducies  to  the  Swin. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  it  in! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  199 

We  must  feed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years, 

For  that  is  our  doom  and  pride, 
As  it  was  when  they  sailed  with  the  Golden  Hind, 

Or  the  wreck  that  struck  last  tide — 
Or  the  wreck  that  lies  on  the  spouting  reef 

Where  the  ghastly  blue-lights  flare. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  bought  it  fair! 


THE  DEEP-SEA  CABLES 

wrecks  dissolve  above   us;   their  dust  drops  down 

from  afar — 
Down  to  the  dark,  to  the  utter  dark,  where  the  blind  white 

sea-snakes  are. 
There  is  no  sound,  no  echo  of  sound,  in  the  deserts  of  the 

deep, 
Or  the  great  grey  level  plains  of  ooze  where  the  shell-burred 

cables  creep. 

Here  in  the  womb  of  the  world — here  on  the  tie-ribs  of  earth 
Words,  and  the  words  of  men,  flicker  and  flutter  and  beat — • 

Warning,  sorrow,  and  gain,  salutation  and  mirth — 

For  a  Power  troubles  the  Still  that  has  neither  voice  nor 
feet. 

They  have  wakened  the  timeless  Things;  they  have  killed 

their  father  Time; 
Joining  hands  in  the  gloom,  a  league  from  the  last  of  the 

sun. 

Hush!     Men  talk  to-day  o'er  the  waste  of  the  ultimate  slime, 
And  a  new  Word  runs  between:  whispering,  "Let  us  be 
one!" 


200  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  SONS 

/""\NE  from  the  ends  of  the  earth — gifts  at  an  open  door — 
Treason  has  much,  but  we,  Mother,  thy  sons  have  more! 
From  the  whine  of  a  dying  man,  from  the  snarl  of  a  wolf-pack 

freed, 

Turn,  and  the  world  is  thine.     Mother,  be  proud  of  thy  seed ! 
Count,  are  we  feeble  or  few?     Hear,  is  our  speech  so  rude? 
Look,  are  we  poor  in  the  land  ?    Judge,  are  we  men  of  The 

Blood? 

Those  that  have  stayed  at  thy  knees,  Mother,  go  call  them 


We  that  were  bred  overseas  wait  and  would  speak  with  our 

kin. 

Not  in  the  dark  do  we  fight — haggle  and  flout  and  gibe; 
Selling  our  love  for  a  price,  loaning  our  hearts  for  a  bribe. 
Gifts  have  we  only  to-day — Love  without  promise  or  fee — 
Hear,  for  thy  children  speak,  from  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 

sea! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CITIES 


t>  OYAL  and  Dower-royal,  I  the  Queen 

Fronting  thy  richest  sea  with  richer  hands — 
A  thousand  mills  roar  through  me  where  I  glean 
All  races  from  all  lands. 

CALCUTTA 

Me  the  Sea-captain  loved,  the  River  built, 

Wealth  sought  and  Kings  adventured  life  to  hold. 

Hail,  England!  I  am  Asia — Power  on  silt, 
Death  in  my  hands,  but  Gold! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  201 

MADRAS 

Clive  kissed  me  on  the  mouth  and  eyes  and  brow, 

Wonderful  kisses,  so  that  I  became 
Crowned  above  Queens — a  withered  beldame  now, 

Brooding  on  ancient  fame. 

RANGOON 

Hail,  Mother!     Do  they  call  me  rich  in  trade? 

Little  care  I,  but  hear  the  shorn  priest  drone, 
And  watch  my  silk-clad  lovers,  man  by  maid, 

Laugh  'neath  my  Shwe  Dagon. 

SINGAPORE 

Hail,  Mother!     East  and  West  must  seek  my  aid 
Ere  the  spent  hull  may  dare  the  ports  afar. 

The  second  doorway  of  the  wide  world's  trade 
Is  mine  to  loose  or  bar. 

HONG-KONG 

Hail,  Mother!     Hold  me  fast;  my  Praya  sleeps 

Under  innumerable  keels  to-day. 
Yet  guard  (and  landward),  or  to-morrow  sweeps 

Thy  warships  down  the  bay! 

HALIFAX 

Into  the  mist  my  guardian  prows  put  forth, 
Behind  the  mist  my  virgin  ramparts  lie, 

The  Warden  of  the  Honour  of  the  North, 
Sleepless  and  veiled  am  I ! 

QUEBEC   AND   MONTREAL 

Peace  is  our  portion.     Yet  a  whisper  rose, 
Foolish  and  causeless,  half  in  jest,  half  hate. 

Now  wake  we  and  remember  mighty  blows, 
And,  fearing  no  man,  wait! 


202  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


From  East  to  West  the  circling  word  has  passed, 
Till  West  is  East  beside  our  land-locked  blue; 

From  East  to  West  the  tested  chain  holds  fast, 
The  well-forged  link  rings  true! 

CAPETOWN 

Hail!     Snatched  and  bartered  oft  from  hand  to  hand, 
I  dream  my  dream,  by  rock  and  heath  and  pine, 

Of  Empire  to  the  northward.     Ay,  one  land 
From  Lion's  Head  to  Line! 

MELBOURNE 

Greeting!  Nor  fear  nor  favour  won  us  place, 
Got  between  greed  of  gold  and  dread  of  drouth, 

Loud-voiced  and  reckless  as  the  wild  tide-race 
That  whips  our  harbour-mouth! 


Greeting!     My  birth-stain  have  I  turned  to  good; 

Forcing  strong  wills  perverse  to  steadfastness: 
The  first  flush  of  the  tropics  in  my  blood, 

And  at  my  feet  Success ! 

BRISBANE 

The  northern  stirp  beneath  the  southern  skies — 

I  build  a  Nation  for  an  Empire's  need, 
Suffer  a  little,  and  my  land  shall  rise, 

Queen  over  lands  indeed! 

HOBART 

Man's  love  first  found  me;  man's  hate  made  me  Hell; 

For  my  babes'  sake  I  cleansed  those  infamies. 
Earnest  for  leave  to  live  and  labour  well, 

God  flung  me  peace  and  ease.  . 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  203 


AUCKLAND 


Last,  loneliest,  loveliest,  exquisite,  apart — 
On  us,  on  us  the  unswerving  season  smiles, 

Who  wonder  'mid  our  fern  why  men  depart 
To  seek  the  Happy  Isles! 


ENGLAND'S  ANSWER 

ye  come  of  The  Blood;  slower  to  bless  than  to 
ban, 

Little  used  to  lie  down  at  the  bidding  of  any  man — 
Flesh  of  the  flesh  that  I  bred,  bone  of  the  bone  that  I  bare; 
Stark  as  your  sons  shall  be — stern  as  your  fathers  were. 
Deeper  than  speech  our  love,  stronger  than  life  our  tether, 
But  we  do  not  fall  on  the  neck  nor  kiss  when  we  come  to- 
gether. 

My  arm  is  nothing  weak,  my  strength  is  not  gone  by; 
Sons,  I  have  borne  many  sons,  but  my  dugs  are  not  dry. 
Look,  I  have  made  ye  a  place  and  opened  wide  the  doors, 
That  ye  may  talk  together,  your  Barons  and  Councillors — 
Wards  of  the  Outer  March,  Lords  of  the  Lower  Seas, 
Ay,  talk  to  your  grey  mother  that  bore  you  on  her  knees! — 
That  ye  may  talk  together,  brother  to  brother's  face — 
Thus  for  the  good  of  your  peoples — thus  for  the  Pride  of 

the  Race. 

Also,  we  will  make  promise.     So  long  as  The  Blood  endures, 
I  shall  know  that  your  good  is  mine:  ye  shall  feel  that  my 

strength  is  yours: 

In  the  day  of  Armageddon,  at  the  last  great  fight  of  all, 
That  Our  House  stand  together  and  the  pillars  do  not  fall. 
Draw  now  the  threefold  knot  firm  on  the  ninefold  bands, 
And  the  Law  that  ye  make  shall  be  law  after  the  rule  of  your 

lands. 

This  for  the  waxen  Heath,  and  that  for  the  Wattle-bloom, 
This  for  the  Maple-leaf,  and  that  for  the  southern  Broom. 


204  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  Law  that  ye  make  shall  be  law  and  I  do  not  press  my 

will, 

Because  ye  are  Sons  of  The  Blood  and  call  me  Mother  still. 
Now  must  ye  speak  to  your  kinsmen  and  they  must  speak  to 

you, 
After  the  use  of  the  English,  in  straight-flung  words  and 

few. 

Go  to  your  work  and  be  strong,  halting  not  in  your  ways, 
Baulking  the  end  half-won  for  an  instant  dole  of  praise. 
Stand  to  your  work  and  be  wise — certain  of  sword  and  pen, 
Who  are  neither  children  nor  Gods,  but  men  in  a  world  of 

men! 


THE  HOUSES 

1898 

(A  Song  of  the  Dominions) 

'HPWIXT  my  house  and  thy  house  the  pathway  is  broad, 

In  thy  house  or  my  house  is  half  the  world's  hoard; 
By  my  house  and  thy  house  hangs  all  the  world's  fate, 
On  thy  house  and  my  house  lies  half  the  world's  hate. 

For  my  house  and  thy  house  no  help  shall  we  find 
Save  thy  house  and  my  house — kin  cleaving  to  kind; 
If  my  house  be  taken,  thine  tumbleth  anon. 
If  thy  house  be  forfeit,  mine  followeth  soon. 

'Twixt  my  house  and  thy  house  what  talk  can  there  be 

Of  headship  or  lordship,  or  service  or  fee? 

Since  my  house  to  thy  house  no  greater  can  send 

Than  thy  house  to  my  house — friend  comforting  friend; 

And  thy  house  to  my  house  no  meaner  can  bring 

Than  my  house  to  thy  house — King  counselling  King. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  205 

TO  THE  CITY  OF  BOMBAY 


Cities  are  full  of  pride, 
Challenging  each  to  each  — 
This  from  her  mountain-side, 
That  from  her  burdened  beach. 

They  count  their  ships  full  tale  — 
Their  corn  and  oil  and  wine, 

Derrick  and  loom  and  bale, 

And  rampart's  gun-flecked  line; 

City  by  City  they  hail: 

"Hast  aught  to  match  with  mine?" 

And  the  men  that  breed  from  them 

They  traffic  up  and  down, 
But  cling  to  their  cities'  hem 

As  a  child  to  the  mother's  gown. 

When  they  talk  with  the  stranger  bands, 

Dazed  and  newly  alone; 
When  they  walk  in  the  stranger  lands, 

By  roaring  streets  unknown; 
Blessing  her  where  she  stands 

For  strength  above  their  own. 

(On  high  to  hold  her  fame 
That  stands  all  fame  beyond, 

By  oath  to  back  the  same, 
Most  faithful-foolish-fond; 

Making  her  mere-breathed  name 
Their  bond  upon  their  bond.) 


206  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

So  thank  I  God  my  birth 

Fell  not  in  isles  aside — 
Waste  headlands  of  the  earth, 

Or  warring  tribes -untried — 
But  that  she  lent  me  worth 

And  gave  me  right  to  pride. 


Surely  in  toil  or  fray 
Under  an  alien  sky, 

Comfort  it  is  to  say: 

"Of  no  mean  city  am  I!" 


(Neither  by  service  nor  fee 

Come  I  to  mine  estate — 
Mother  of  Cities  to  me, 

But  I  was  born  in  her  gate, 
Between  the  palms  and  the  sea, 

Where  the  world-end  steamers  wait.) 


Now  for  this  debt  I  owe, 
And  for  her  far-borne  cheer 

Must  I  make  haste  and  go 
With  tribute  to  her  pier. 


And  she  shall"  touch  and  remit 
After  the  use  of  kings 

(Orderly,  ancient,  fit) 
My  deep-sea  plunderings, 

And  purchase  in  all  lands. 
And  this  we  do  for  a  sign 
Her  power  is  over  mine, 

And  mine  I  hold  at  her  hands! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  207 


THE  GIPSY  TRAIL 

^HE  white  moth  to  the  closing  bine, 

The  bee  to  the  opened  clover, 
And  the  gipsy  blood  to  the  gipsy  blood 
Ever  the  wide  world  over. 

Ever  the  wide  world  over,  lass, 

Ever  the  trail  held  true, 
Over  the  w^rld  and  under  the  world, 

And  back  at  the  last  to  you. 

Out  of  the  dark  of  the  gorgio  camp, 

Out  of  the  grime  and  the  gray 
(Morning  waits  at  the  end  of  the  world), 

Gipsy,  come  away ! 

The  wild  boar  to  the  sun-dried  swamp, 

The  red  crane  to  her  reed, 
And  the  Romany  lass  to  the  Romany  lad 

By  the  tie  of  a  roving  breed. 

The  pied  snake  to  the  rifted  rock, 

The  buck  to  the  stony  plain, 
And  the  Romany  lass  to  the  Romany  lad, 

And  both  to  the  road  again. 

Both  to  the  road  again,  again! 

Out  on  a  clean  sea-track — 
Follow  the  cross  of  the  gipsy  trail 

Over  the  world  and  back! 

Follow  the  Romany  patteran 
North  where  the  blue  bergs  sail, 

And  the  bows  are  gray  with  the  frozen  spray, 
And  the  masts  are  shod  with  mail. 


208  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Follow  the  Romany  patteran 

Sheer  to  the  Austral  Light, 
Where  the  besom  of  God  is  the  wild  South  wind, 

Sweeping  the  sea-floors  white. 

Follow  the  Romany  patteran 

West  to  the  sinking  sun, 
Till  the  junk-sails  lift  through  the  houseless  drift, 

And  the  east  and  the  west  are  one. 

Follow  the  Romany  patteran 

East  where  the  silence  broods 
By  a  purple  wave  on  an  opal  beach 

In  the  hush  of  the  Mahim  woods. 

"The  wild  hawk  to  the  wind-swept  sky, 

The  deer  to  the  wholesome  wold 
And  the  heart  of  a  man  to  the  heart  of  a  maid, 

As  it  was  in  the  days  of  old." 

The  heart  of  a  man  to  the  heart  of  a  maid — 

Light  of  my  tents,  be  fleet. 
Morning  waits  at  the  end  of  the  world, 

And  the  world  is  all  at  our  feet! 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 

i  897 

(Canadian  Preferential  Tariff ',  1897) 

^  NATION  spoke  to  a  Nation, 

A  Queen  sent  word  to  a  Throne: 
"Daughter  am  I  in  my  mother's  house, 
But  mistress  in  my  own. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  209 

The  gates  are  mine  to  open, 

As  the  gates  are  mine  to  close, 
And  I  set  my  house  in  order," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

" Neither  with  laughter  nor  weeping, 

Fear  or  the  child's  amaze — 
Soberly  under  the  White  Man's  law 

My  white  men  go  their  ways. 
Not  for  the  Gentiles'  clamour — 

Insult  or  threat  of  blows — 
Bow  we  the  knee  to  Baal," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

"My  speech  is  clean  and  single, 

I  talk  of  common  things — 
Words  of  the  wharf  and  the  market-place 

And  the  ware  the  merchant  brings: 
Favour  to  those  I  favour, 

But  a  stumbling-block  to  my  foes. 
Many  there  be  that  hate  us," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows, 

"'I  called  my  chiefs  to  council 

In  the  din  of  a  troubled  year; 
For  the  sake  of  a  sign  ye  would  not  see, 

And  a  word  ye  would  not  hear. 
This  is  our  message  and  answer; 

This  is  the  path  we  chose: 
For  we  be  also  a  people," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

"Carry  the  word  to  my  sisters — 

To  the  Queens  of  the  East  and  the  South. 

I  have  proven  faith  in  the  Heritage 
By  more  than  the  word  of  the  mouth. 


210  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  that  are  wise  may  follow 

Ere  the  world's  war-trumpet  blows, 

But  I — I  am  first  in  the  battle," 
Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

A  Nation  spoke  to  a  Nation,, 

A  Throne  sent  word  to  a  Throne: 
"Daughter  am  I  in  my  mother  s  house > 

But  mistress  in  my  own. 
The  gates  are  mine  to  open, 

As  the  gates  are  mine  to  close, 
And  I  abide  by  my  Mother  s  House" 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 


AN  AMERICAN 

i  894 
The  American  Spirit  speaks: 

JF  THE  Led  Striker  call  it  a  strike, 

Or  the  papers  call  it  a  war, 
They  know  not  much  what  I  am  like, 
Nor  what  he  is,  my  Avatar. 

Through  many  roads,  by  me  possessed, 
He  shambles  forth  in  cosmic  guise; 

He  is  the  Jester  and  the  Jest, 
And  he  the  Text  himself  applies. 

The  Celt  is  in  his  heart  and  hand, 
The  Gaul  is  in  his  brain  and  nerve; 

Where,  cosmopolitanly  planned, 

He  guards  the  Redskin's  dry  reserve 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918 

His  easy  unswept  hearth  he  lends 
From  Labrador  to  Guadeloupe; 

Till,  elbowed  out  by  sloven  friends, 
He  camps,  at  sufferance,  on  the  stoop. 

Calm-eyed  he  scoffs  at  Sword  and  Crown, 
Or,  panic-blinded,  stabs  and  slays: 

Blatant  he  bids  the  world  bow  down, 
Or  cringing  begs  a  crust  of  praise; 


Or,  sombre-drunk,  at  mine  and  mart, 
He  dubs  his  dreary  brethren  Kings. 

His  hands  are  black  with  blood — his  heart 
Leaps,  as  a  babe's,  at  little  things. 

But,  through  the  shift  of  mood  and  mood, 
Mine  ancient  humour  saves  him  whole — 

The  cynic  devil  in  his  blood 

That  bids  him  mock  his  hurrying  soul; 

That  bids  him  flout  the  Law  he  makes, 
That  bids  him  make  the  Law  he  flouts, 

Till,  dazed  by  many  doubts,  he  wakes 

The  drumming  guns  that — have  no  doubts; 

That  checks  him  foolish-hot  and  fond, 
That  chuckles  through  his  deepest  ire, 

That  gilds  the  slough  of  his  despond 
But  dims  the  goal  of  his  desire; 

Inopportune,  shrill-accented, 

The  acrid  Asiatic  mirth 
That  leaves  him,  careless  'mid  his  dead, 

The  scandal  of  the  elder  earth. 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

How  shall  he  clear  himself,  how  reach 
Your  bar  or  weighed  defence  pref< 

A  brother  hedged  with  alien  speech 
And  lacking  all  interpreter? 


Which  knowledge  vexes  him  a  space; 

But,  while  Reproof  around  him  rings, 
He  turns  a  keen  untroubled  face 

Home,  to  the  instant  need  of  things. 


Enslaved,  illogical,  elate, 

He  greets  the  embarrassed  Gods,  nor  fears 
To  shake  the  iron  hand  of  Fate 

Or  match  with  Destiny  for  beers. 


Lo,  imperturbable  he  rules, 
Unkempt,  disreputable,  vast — 

And,  in  the  teeth  of  all  the  schools, 
I — I  shall  save  him  at  the  last! 


THE  CHOICE 

1917 


The  American  Spirit  speaks: 


TO  the  Judge  of  Right  and  Wrong 

With  Whom  fulfilment  lies 
Our  purpose  and  our  power  belong^ 
Our  faith  and  sacrifice. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  213 

"Let  Freedom's  Land  rejoice! 

Our  ancient  bonds  are  riven; 
Once  more  to  us  the  eternal  choice 

Of  Good  or  111  is  given. 

Not  at  a  little  cost, 

Hardly  by  prayer  or  tears, 
Shall  we  recover  the  road  we  lost 

In  the  drugged  and  doubting  years. 

But,  after  the  fires  and  the  wrath, 

But,  after  searching  and  pain, 
His  Mercy  opens  us  a  path 

To  live  with  ourselves  again. 

In  the  Gates  of  Death  rejoice! 

We  see  and  hold  the  good — 
Bear  witness,  Earth,  we  have  made  our  choice 

With  Freedom's  brotherhood! 


Then  praise  the  Lord  Most  High 

Whose  Strength  hath  saved  us  whole, 

Who  bade  us  choose  that  the  Flesh  should  die 
And  not  the  living  Soul! 

To  the  God  in  Man  displayed — 

Wheree'er  we  see  that  Birth, 
Be  love  and  understanding  paid 

As  never  yet  on  earth! 

To  the  Spirit  that  moves  in  Man, 

On  Whom  all  worlds  depend. 
Be  Glory  since  our  world  began 

And  service  to  the  end  ! 


214  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  YOUNG  QUEEN 

1900 

(The  Commonwealth  of  Australia,  inaugurated  New  Year's  Day,  1901) 

JJER  hand  was  still  on  her  sword-hilt,  the  spur  was  still 

on  her  heel, 

She  had  not  cast  her  harness  of  grey,  war-dinted  steel; 
High  on   her    red-splashed    charger,   beautiful,   bold,   and 

browned, 
Bright-eyed  out  of  the  battle,  the  Young  Queen  rode  to  be 

crowned. 

She  came  to  the  Old  Queen's  presence,  in  the  Hall  of  Our 

Thousand  Years — 
In  the  Hall  of  the  Five  Free  Nations  that  are  peers  among 

their  peers: 

Royal  she  gave  the  greeting,  loyal  she  bowed  the  head, 
Crying — "Crown  me,  my  Mother!"     And  the  Old  Queen 

rose  and  said: — 

"How  can  I  crown  thee  further?     I  know  whose  standard 

flies 
Where  the  clean  surge  takes  the  Leeuwin  or  the  coral  barriers 

rise. 
Blood  of  our  foes  on  thy  bridle,  and  speech  of  our  friends  in 

thy  mouth — 
How  can  I  crown  thee  further,  O  Queen  of  the  Sovereign 

South? 

"Let   the   Five  Free  Nations  witness!"     But   the  Young 

Queen  answered  swift: — 
"It  shall  be  crown  of  Our  crowning  to  hold  Our  crown  for  a 

gift. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  215 

In  the  days  when  Our  folk  were  feeble  thy  sword  made  sure 

Our  lands: 
Wherefore  We  come  in  power  to  take  Our  crown  at  thy 

hands." 


And  the  Old  Queen  raised  and  kissed  her,  and  the  jealous 
circlet  prest, 

Roped  with  the  pearls  of  the  Northland  and  red  with  the  gold 
of  the  West, 

Lit  with  her  land's  own  opals,  levin-hearted,  alive, 

And  the  Five-starred  Cross  above  them,  for  sign  of  the  Na- 
tions Five. 


So  it  was  done  in  the  Presence — in  the  Hall  of  Our  Thou- 
sand Years, 

In  the  face  of  the  Five  Free  Nations  that  have  no  peer  but 
their  peers; 

And  the  Young  Queen  out  of  the  Southland  kneeled  down  at 
the  Old  Queen's  knee, 

And  asked  for  a  mother's  blessing  on  the  excellent  years  to  be. 


And  the  Old  Queen  stooped  in  the  stillness  where  the  jewelled 

head  drooped  low: — 

"Daughter  no  more  but  Sister,  and  doubly  Daughter  so — 
Mother  of  many  princes — and  child  of  the  child  I  bore, 
What  good  thing  shall  I  wish  thee  that  I  have  not  wished 

before? 


"Shall  I  give  thee  delight  in  dominion — mere  pride  of  thy 

setting  forth? 
Nay,  we  be  women  together — we  know  what  that  lust  is 

worth. 

Peace  in  thy  utmost  borders,  and  strength  on  a  road  untrod  ? 
These  are  dealt  or  diminished  at  the  secret  will  of  God. 


216  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"I  have  swayed  troublous  councils,  I  am  wise  in  terrible 

things; 
Father  and  son  and  grandson,  I  have  known  the  hearts  of  the 

Kings. 
Shall  I  give  thee  my  sleepless  wisdom,  or  the  gift  all  wisdom 

above  ? 
Ay,  we  be  women  together — I  give  thee  thy  people's  love: 

" Tempered,  august,  abiding,  reluctant  of  prayers  or  vows, 
Eager  in  face  of  peril  as  thine  for  thy  mother's  house. 
God  requite  thee,  my  Sister,  through  the  excellent  years  to  be, 
And  make  thy  people  to  love  thee  as  thou  hast  loved  me!" 


THE  FLOWERS 


i  895 

"  To  our  private  taste,  there  is  a/ways  something  a  little  exotic,  almost  arti- 
ficial, in  songs  which,  under  an  English  aspect  and  dress,  are  yet  so  manifestly 
the  product  of  other  skies.  They  affect  us  like  translations;  the  very  fauna  and 
flora  are  alien,  remote;  the  dog's-tooth  violet  is  but  an  ill  substitute  for  the  rathe 
primrose,  nor  can  we  ever  believe  that  the  wood-robin  sings  as  sweetly  in  April  as 
the  English  thrush."  THE  ATHENAEUM. 


English  posies! 
Kent  and  Surrey  may  — 
Violets  of  the  Under  cliff 

Wet  with  Channel  spray; 
Cowslips  from  a  Devon  combe  — 

Midland  Jurze  afire  — 
Buy  my  English  posies 
And  Til  sell  your  heart's  desire  ! 

Buy  my  English  posies! 

You  that  scorn  the  May, 
Won't  you  greet  a  friend  from  home 

Half  the  world  away? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  217 

Green  against  the  draggled  drift, 

Faint  and  frail  and  first — 
Buy  my  Northern  blood-root 

And  I'll  know  where  you  were  nursed! 
Robin  down  the  logging-road  whistles,  "Come  to  me!" 
Spring  has  found  the  maple-grove,  the  sap  is  running  free. 
All  the  winds  of  Canada  call  the  ploughing-rain. 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again! 

Buy  my  English  posies! 

Here's  to  match  your  need — 
Buy  a  tuft  of  royal  heath, 

Buy  a  bunch  of  weed 
White  as  sand  of  Muisenberg 

Spun  before  the  gale — 
Buy  my  heath  and  lilies 

And  I'll  tell  you  whence  you  hail! 
Under  hot  Constantia  broad  the  vineyards  lie — 
Throned  and  thorned  the  aching  berg  props  the  speckless 

sky — 

Slow  below  the  Wynberg  firs  trails  the  tilted  wain — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again! 

Buy  my  English  posies! 

You  that  will  not  turn — 
Buy  my  hot-wood  clematis, 

Buy  a  frond  o'  fern 
Gathered  where  the  Erskine  leaps 

Down  the  road  to  Lome — 
Buy  my  Christmas  creeper 

And  I'll  say  where  you  were  born! 
West  away  from  Melbourne  dust  holidays  begin — 
They  that  mock  at  Paradise  woo  at  Cora  Lynn — 
Through  the  great  South  Otway  gums  sings  the  great  South 

Main — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again! 


218  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Buy  my  English  posies! 

Here's  your  choice  unsold! 
Buy  a  blood-red  myrtle-bloom, 

Buy  the  kowhai's  gold 
Flung  for  gift  on  Taupo's  face, 

Sign  that  spring  is  come — 
Buy  my  clinging  myrtle 

And  I'll  give  you  back  your  home! 
Broom  behind  the  windy  town,  pollen  of  the  pine — 
Bell-bird  in  the  leafy  deep  where  the  ratas  twine — 
Fern  above  the  saddle-bow,  flax  upon  the  plain — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again ! 

Buy  my  English  posies! 

Ye  that  have  your  own 
Buy  them  for  a  brother's  sake 

Overseas,  alone! 
Weed  ye  trample  underfoot 
Floods  his  heart  abrim — 
Bird  ye  never  heeded, 

Oh,  she  calls  his  dead  to  him! 

Far  and  far  our  homes  are  set  round  the  Seven  Seas; 
Woe  for  us  if  we  forget,  we  who  hold  by  these ! 
Unto  each  his  mother-beach,  bloom  and  bird  and  land — 
Masters  of  the  Seven  Seas,  oh,  love  and  understand! 


THE  NATIVE-BORN 

i  894 


to  the  Queen—  God  bless  her!- 
We've  drunk  to  our  mothers'  land; 
We've  drunk  to  our  English  brother, 
(But  he  does  not  understand); 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  219 

We've  drunk  to  the  wide  creation, 

And  the  Cross  swings  low  for  the  morn, 

Last  toast,  and  of  Obligation, 
A  health  to  the  Native-born! 


They  change  their  skies  above  them, 

But  not  their  hearts  that  roam! 
We  learned  from  our  wistful  mothers 

To  call  old  England  "home"; 
We  read  of  the  English  sky-lark, 

Of  the  spring  in  the  English  lanes, 
But  we  screamed  with  the  painted  lories 

As  we  rode  on  the  dusty  plains! 

They  passed  with  their  old-world  legends — 

Their  tales  of  wrong  and  dearth — 
Our  fathers  held  by  purchase, 

But  we  by  the  right  of  birth; 
Our  heart's  where  they  rocked  our  cradle, 

Our  love  where  we  spent  our  toil, 
And  our  faith  and  our  hope  and  our  honour 

We  pledge  to  our  native  soil! 


I  charge  you  charge  your  gh 

I  charge  you  drink  with  me 
To  the  men  of  the  Four  New  Nations, 

And  the  Islands  of  the  Sea — 
To  the  last  least  lump  of  coral 

That  none  may  stand  outside, 
And  our  own  good  pride  shall  teach  us 

To  praise  our  comrade's  pride. 

To  the  hush  of  the  breathless  morning 
On  the  thin,  tin,  crackling  roofs, 

To  the  haze  of  the  burned  back-ranges 
And  the  dust  of  the  shoeless  hoofs — 


220  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drowning, 
To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drouth — 

To  the  men  of  a  million  acres, 
To  the  Sons  of  the  Golden  South! 


To  the  Sons  of  the  Golden  South  (Stand  up  /), 

And  the  life  we  live  and  know, 
Let  a  fellow  sing  o'  the  little  things  he  cares  about, 
If  a  fellow  fights  for  the  little  things  he  cares  about 

With  the  weight  of  a  single  blow  ! 


To  the  smoke  of  a  hundred  coasters, 

To  the  sheep  on  a  thousand  hills, 
To  the  sun  that  never  blisters, 

To  the  rain  that  never  chills — 
To  the  land  of  the  waiting  springtime, 

To  our  five-meal,  meat-fed  men, 
To  the  tall,  deep-bosomed  women, 

And  the  children  nine  and  ten! 


And  the  children  nine  and  ten  (Stand  up  /), 

And  the  life  we  live  and  know. 
Let  a  fellow  sing  o'  the  little  things  he  cares  about, 
If  a  fellow  fights  for  the  little  things  he  cares  about, 

With  the  weight  of  a  two-fold  blow  ! 


To  the  far-flung,  fenceless  prairie 

Where  the  quick  cloud-shadows  trail, 
To  our  neighbour's  barn  in  the  offing 

And  the  line  of  the  new-cut  rail; 
To  the  plough  in  her  league-long  furrow 

With  the  grey  Lake  gulls  behind — 
To  the  weight  of  a  half-year's  winter 

And  the  warm  wet  western  wind! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918 

To  the  home  of  the  floods  and  thunder, 

To  her  pale  dry  healing  blue — 
To  the  lift  of  the  great  Cape  combers, 

And  the  smell  of  the  baked  Karroo. 
To  the  growl  of  the  sluicing  stamp-head — 

To  the  reef  and  the  water-gold, 
To  the  last  and  the  largest  Empire, 

To  the  map  that  is  half  unrolled! 


To  our  dear  dark  foster-mothers, 

To  the  heathen  songs  they  sung — 
To  the  heathen  speech  we  babbled 

Ere  we  came  to  the  white  man's  tongue. 
To  the  cool  of  our  deep  verandas — 

To  the  blaze  of  our  jewelled  main, 
To  the  night,  to  the  palms  in  the  moonlight, 

And  the  fire-fly  in  the  cane! 


To  the  hearth  of  Our  People's  People — 

To  her  well-ploughed  windy  sea, 
To  the  hush  of  our  dread  high-altar 

Where  The  Abbey  makes  us  We. 
To  the  grist  of  the  slow-ground  ages, 

To  the  gain  that  is  yours  and  mine — 
To  the  Bank  of  the  Open  Credit, 

To  the  Power-house  of  the  Line! 


We've  drunk  to  the  Queen — God  bless  her! 

We've  drunk  to  our  mothers'  land; 
We've  drunk  to  our  English  brother 

(And  we  hope  he'll  understand). 
We've  drunk  as  much  as  we're  able, 

And  the  Cross  swings  low  for  the  morn; 
Last  toast — and  your  foot  on  the  table! — 

A  health  to  the  Native-born ! 


222  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

A  health  to  the  Native-born  (Stand  up  /), 

We're  six  white  men  arow, 

All  bound  to  sing  o'  the  little  things  we  care  about, 
All  bound  to  fight  for  the  little  things  we  care  about 

With  the  weight  of  a  six-fold  blow  ! 
By  the  might  of  our  cable-tow  (Take  hands  /), 

From  the  Orkneys  to  the  Horn 
All  round  the  world  (and  a  little  loop  to  pull  it  by\ 
All  round  the  world  (and  a  little  strap  to  buckle  if), 
A  health  to  the  Native-born  ! 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

i  895 

a  Legion  that  never  was  'listed, 
That  carries  no  colours  or  crest. 
But,  split  in  a  thousand  detachments, 

Is  breaking  the  road  for  the  rest. 
Our  fathers  they  left  us  their  blessing — 

They  taught  us,  and  groomed  us,  and  crammed; 
But  we've  shaken  the  Clubs  and  the  Messes 
To  go  and  find  out  and  be  damned 

(Dear  boys!), 
To  go  and  get  shot  and  be  damned. 

So  some  of  us  chivvy  the  slaver, 

And  some  of  us  cherish  the  black, 
And  some  of  us  hunt  on  the  Oil  Coast, 

And  some  on  the  Wallaby  track: 
And  some  of  us  drift  to  Sarawak, 

And  some  of  us  drift  up  The  Fly, 
And  some  share  our  tucker  with  tigers, 

And  some  with  the  gentle  Masai, 

(Dear  boys!), 

Take  tea  with  the  giddy  Masai. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  223 

We've  painted  The  Islands  vermilion, 

We've  pearled  on  half-shares  in  the  Bay, 
We've  shouted  on  seven-ounce  nuggets, 

We've  starved  on  a  Seedeeboy's  pay; 
We've  laughed  at  the  world  as  we  found  it, — 

Its  women  and  cities  and  men — 
From  Sayyid  Burgash  in  a  tantrum 

To  the  smoke-reddened  eyes  of  Loben, 
(Dear  boys!), 

We've  a  little  account  with  Loben. 


The  ends  of  the  Earth  were  our  portion, 

The  ocean  at  large  was  our  share. 
There  was  never  a  skirmish  to  windward 

But  the  Leaderless  Legion  was  there: 
Yes,  somehow  and  somewhere  and  always 

We  were  first  when  the  trouble  began, 
From  a  lottery-row  in  Manila, 

To  an  I.D.B.  race  on  the  Pan 

(Dear  boys!), 

With  the  Mounted  Police  on  the  Pan. 


We  preach  in  advance  of  the  Army, 

We  skirmish  ahead  of  the  Church, 
With  never  a  gunboat  to  help  us 

When  we're  scuppered  and  left  in  the  lurch. 
But  we  know  as  the  cartridges  finish, 

And  we're  filed  on  our  last  little  shelves, 
That  the  Legion  that  never  was  'listed 

Will  send  us  as  good  as  ourselves 

(Good  men!), 

Five  hundred  as  good  as  ourselves! 


224  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  a  health  (we  must  drink  it  in  whispers), 

To  our  wholly  unauthorized  horde — 
To  the  line  of  our  dusty  foreloopers, 
The  Gentlemen  Rovers  abroad — 
Yes,  a  health  to  ourselves  ere  we  scatter, 

For  the  steamer  won't  wait  for  the  train, 
And  the  Legion  that  never  was  'listed 
Goes  back  into  quarters  again 

'Regards! 
Goes  back  under  canvas  again. 

Hurrah! 
The  swag  and  the  billy  again. 

Here's  how! 
The  trail  and  the  packhorse  again. 

Salue! 
The  trek  and  the  lager  again! 


THE  IRISH  GUARDS 


'RE  not  so  old  in  the  Army  List, 
But  we're  not  so  young  at  our  trade, 
For  we  had  the  honour  at  Fontenoy 

Of  meeting  the  Guards'  Brigade. 
'Twas  Lally,  Dillon,  Bulkeley,  Clare, 

And  Lee  that  led  us  then, 
And  after  a  hundred  and  seventy  years 
We're  fighting  for  France  again ! 

Old  Days  !     The  wild  geese  are  flighting, 

Head  to  the  storm  as  they  faced  it  before  ! 
For  where  there  are  Irish  there's  bound  to  be  fighting, 
And  when  there's  no  fighting,  it's  Ireland  no  more  I 

Ireland  no  more  I 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  225 

The  fashion's  all  for  khaki  now, 

But  once  through  France  we  went 
Full-dressed  in  scarlet  Army  cloth, 

The  English — left  at  Ghent. 
They're  fighting  on  our  side  to-day 

But,  before  they  changed  their  clothes, 
The  half  of  Europe  knew  our  fame, 
As  all  of  Ireland  knows! 

Old  Days  !     The  wild  geese  are  flying, 

Head  to  the  storm  as  they  faced  it  before  I 
For  where  there  are  Irish  there's  memory  undying. 
And  when  we  forget ',  it  is  Ireland  no  more  ! 

Ireland  no  more  ! 


From  Barry  Wood  to  Gouzeaucourt, 

From  Boyne  to  Pilkem  Ridge, 
The  ancient  days  come  back  no  more 

Than  water  under  the  bridge. 
But  the  bridge  it  stands  and  the  water  runs 

As  red  as  yesterday, 

And  the  Irish  move  to  the  sound  of  the  guns 
Like  salmon  to  the  sea. 

Old  Days  !     The  wild  geese  are  ranging, 

Head  to  the  storm  as  they  faced  it  before  ! 
For  where  there  are  Irish  their  hearts  are  unchanging, 
And  when  they  are  changed,  it  is  Ireland  no  more  ! 

Ireland  no  more  I 


We're  not  so  old  in  the  Army  List, 
But  we're  not  so  new  in  the  ring, 

For  we  carried  our  packs  with  Marshal  Saxe 
When  Louis  was  our  King. 

But  Douglas  Haig's  our  Marshal  now 
And  we're  King  George's  men, 


226  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  after  one  hundred  and  seventy  years 
We're  fighting  for  France  again! 

A h,  France  !     And  did  we  stand  by  you, 

When  life  was  made  splendid  with  gifts  and  rewards  ? 
Ahy  France  !    And  will  we  deny  you 

In  the  hour  of  your  agony ,  Mother  of  Swords? 
Old  Days  !     The  wild  geese  are  flighting, 

Head  to  the  storm  as  they  faced  it  before  ! 
For  where  there  are  Irish  there's  loving  and  fighting, 
And  when  we  stop  either,  it's  Ireland  no  more  ! 

Ireland  no  more  ! 


PHARAOH  AND  THE  SERGEANT 

i  897 

".     .     .     Consider  that  the  meritorious  services  of  the  Sergeant  Instructors 
attached  to  the  Egyptian  Army  have  been  inadequately  acknowledged. 
To  the  excellence  of  their  work  is  mainly  due  the  great  improvement  that  has 
taken  place  in  the  soldiers  of  H.H.  the  Khedive. " 

EXTRACT  FROM  LETTER. 

CAID  England  unto  Pharaoh,  "I  must  make  a  man  of  you, 

That  will  stand  upon  his  feet  and  play  the  game; 
That  will  Maxim  his  oppressor  as  a  Christian  ought  to  do," 
And  she  sent  old  Pharaoh  Sergeant  Whatisname. 
It  was  not  a  Duke  nor  Earl,  nor  yet  a  discount — 

It  was  not  a  big  brass  General  that  came; 
But  a  man  in  khaki  kit  who  could  handle  men  a  bit, 
With  his  bedding  labelled  Sergeant  Whatisname. 

Said  England  unto  Pharaoh,  "Though  at  present  singing 
small, 

You  shall  hum  a  proper  tune  before  it  ends," 
And  she  introduced  old  Pharaoh  to  the  Sergeant  once  for  all, 

And  left  'em  in  the  desert  making  friends. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  227 

It  was  not  a  Crystal  Palace  nor  Cathedral; 

It  was  not  a  public-house  of  common  fame; 
But  a  piece  of  red-hot  sand,  with  a  palm  on  either  hand, 

And  a  little  hut  for  Sergeant  Whatisname. 


Said  England  unto  Pharaoh,  "You've  had  miracles  before, 

When  Aaron  struck  your  rivers  into  blood; 
But  if  you  watch  the  Sergeant  he  can  show  you  something 

more. 

He's  a  charm  for  making  riflemen  from  mud." 
It  was  neither  Hindustani,  French,  nor  Coptics; 

It  was  odds  and  ends  and  leavings  of  the  same, 

Translated  by  a  stick  (which  is  really  half  the  trick), 

And  Pharaoh  harked  to  Sergeant  Whatisname. 


(There  were  years  that  no  one  talked  of;  there  were  times  of 

horrid  doubt — 

There  was  faith  and  hope  and  whacking  and  despair — 
While  the  Sergeant  gave  the  Cautions  and  he  combed  old 

Pharaoh  out, 
And  England  didn't  seem  to  know  nor  care. 

That  is  England's  awful  way  o'  doing  business — 

She  would  serve  her  God  (or  Gordon)  just  the  same — 
For  she  thinks  her  Empire  still  is  the  Strand  and  Hoi- 
born  Hill, 
And  she  didn't  think  of  Sergeant  Whatisname.) 


Said  England  to  the  Sergeant,  "You  can  let  my  people  go!" 

(England  used  'em  cheap  and  nasty  from  the  start), 
And  they  entered  'em  in  battle  on  a  most  astonished  foe — 
But  the  Sergeant  he  had  hardened  Pharaoh's  heart 
Which  was  broke,  along  of  all  the  plagues  of  Egypt, 
Three  thousand  years  before  the  Sergeant  came — 
And  he  mended  it  again  in  a  little  more  than  ten, 
Till  Pharaoh  fought  like  Sergeant  Whatisname. 


228  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

It  was  wicked  bad  campaigning  (cheap  and  nasty  from  the 

first), 

There  was  heat  and  dust  and  coolie-work  and  sun, 
There  were  vipers,  flies,  and  sandstorms,  there  was  cholera 

and  thirst, 
But  Pharaoh  done  the  best  he  ever  done. 

Down  the  desert,  down  the  railway,  down  the  river, 

Like  Israelites  from  bondage  so  he  came, 
'Tween  the  clouds  o'  dust  and  fire  to  the  land  of  his 

desire, 
And  his  Moses,  it  was  Sergeant  Whatisname! 

We  are  eating  dirt  in  handfuls  for  to  save  our  daily  bread, 

Which  we  have  to  buy  from  those  that  hate  us  most, 
And  we  must  not  raise  the  money  where  the  Sergeant  raised 

the  dead, 

And  it's  wrong  and  bad  and  dangerous  to  boast. 
But  he  did  it  on  the  cheap  and  on  the  quiet, 
And  he's  not  allowed  to  forward  any  claim — 
Though  he  drilled  a  black  man  white,  though  he  made  a 

mummy  fight, 

He  will  still  continue  Sergeant  Whatisname — 
Private,  Corporal,  Colour-Sergeant,  and  Instructor — 
But  the  everlasting  miracle's  the  same! 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE 

1891 

'"THERE  were  thirty  million  English  who  talked  of  Eng- 
land's might, 

There  were  twenty  broken  troopers  who  lacked  a  bed  for  the 
night. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  229 

They  had  neither  food  nor  money,  they  had  neither  service 

nor  trade; 
They  were  only  shiftless  soldiers,  the  last  of  the  Light  Brigade. 

They  felt  that  life  was  fleeting;  they  knew  not  that  art  was 
long, 

That  though  they  were  dying  of  famine,  they  lived  in  death- 
less song. 

They  asked  for  a  little  money  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door; 

And  the  thirty  million  English  sent  twenty  pounds  and  four! 


They  laid  their  heads  together  that  were  scarred  and  lined 

and  gray; 
Keen  were  the  Russian  sabres,  but  want  was  keener  than 

they; 
And  an  old  troop  sergeant  muttered,  "Let  us  go  to  the  man 

who  writes 
The  things  on  Balaclava  the  kiddies  at  school  recites." 

They  went  without  bands   or  colours,   a  regiment  ten-file 

strong, 
To  look  for  the  Master-singer  who  had  crowned  them  all  in 

his  song; 
And,  waiting  his  servant's  order,  by  the  garden  gate  they 

stayed, 
A  desolate  little  cluster,  the  last  of  the  Light  Brigade. 

They  strove  to  stand  to  attention,  to  straighten  the  toil- 
bowed  back; 

They  drilled  on  an  empty  stomach,  the  loose-knit  files  fell 
slack; 

With  stooping  of  weary  shoulders,  in  garments  tattered  and 
frayed, 

They  shambled  into  his  presence,  the  last  of  the  Light  Bri- 
gade. 


230  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  old  troop  sergeant  was  spokesman,  and  "Beggin'  your 

pardon,"  he  said, 
"You  wrote  o'  the  Light  Brigade,  sir.     Here's  all  that  isn't 

dead. 
An'  it's  all  come  true  what  you  wrote,  sir,  regardin'  the  mouth 

of  hell; 
For  we're  all  of  us  nigh  to  the  workhouse,  an'  we  thought  we'd 

call  an'  tell. 


"No,  thank  you,  we  don't  want  food,  sir;  but  couldn't  you 

take  an'  write 

A  sort  of 'to  be  continued'  and  'see  next  page'  o'  the  fight? 
We  think  that  someone  has  blundered,  an'  couldn't  you  tell 

'em  how? 
You  wrote  we  were  heroes  once,  sir.     Please,  write  we  are 

starving  now." 


The  poor  little  army  departed,  limping  and  lean  and  forlorn. 
And  the  heart  of  the  Master-singer  grew  hot  with  "the  scorn 

of  scorn." 
And  he  wrote  for  them  wonderful  verses  that  swept  the  land 

like  flame, 
Till  the  fatted  souls  of  the  English  were  scourged  with  the 

thing  called  Shame. 


O  thirty  million  English  that  babble  of  England's  might, 
Behold  there  are  twenty  heroes  who  lack  their  food  to-night; 
Our  children's  children  are  lisping  to  "  honour  the  charge  they 

made — " 
And  we  leave  to  the  streets  and  the  workhouse  the  charge  of 

the  Light  Brigade! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION    1885-1918  231 

KITCHENER'S  SCHOOL 

1898 

Being  a  translation  of  the  song  that  was  made  by  a  Mohammedan  school- 
master of  Bengal  Infantry  (some  time  on  service  at  Suakim)  when  he  heard  that 
Kitchener  was  taking  money  from  the  English  to  build  a  Madrissa  for  Hub- 
shees — or  a  college  for  the  Sudanese. 

HUBSHEE,  carry  your  shoes  in  your  hand  and  bow 

your  head  on  your  breast! 
This  is  the  message  of  Kitchener  who  did  not  break  you  in 

jest. 

It  was  permitted  to  him  to  fulfil -the  long-appointed  years; 
Reaching  the  end  ordained  of  old  over  your  dead  Emirs. 

He  stamped  only  before  your  walls,  and  the  Tomb  ye  knew 

was  dust: 
He  gathered  up  under  his  armpits  all  the  swords  of  your 

trust: 
He  set  a  guard  on  your  granaries,  securing  the  weak  from 

the  strong: 
He  said: — "Go  work  the  waterwheels  that  were  abolished  so 

long." 

He  said: — "Go  safely,  being  abased.     I  have  accomplished 

my  vow." 

That  was  the  mercy  of  Kitchener.     Cometh  his  madness  now ! 
He  does  not  desire  as  ye  desire,  nor  devise  as  ye  devise: 
He  is  preparing  a  second  host — an  army  to  make  you  wise. 

Not  at  the  mouth  of  his  clean-lipped  guns  shall  ye  learn  his 

name  again, 
But  letter  by  letter,  from  Kaf  to  Kaf,  at  the  mouths  of  his 

chosen  men. 


23 2  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S   VERSE 

He  has  gone  back  to  his  own  city,  not  seeking  presents  or 

bribes, 
But  openly  asking  the  English  for  money  to  buy  you  Hakims 

and  scribes. 

Knowing  that  ye  are  forfeit  by  battle  and  have  no  right  to 
live, 

He  begs  for  money  to  bring  you  learning — and  all  the  Eng- 
lish give. 

It  is  their  treasure — it  is  their  pleasure — thus  are  their 
hearts  inclined: 

For  Allah  created  the  English  mad — the  maddest  of  all 
mankind! 


They  do  not  consider  the  Meaning  of  Things;  they  consult  not 

creed  nor  clan. 
Behold,  they  clap  the  slave  on  the  back,  and  behold,  he  ariseth 

a  man! 
They  terribly  carpet  the  earth  with  dead,  and  before  their 

cannon  cool, 
They  walk  unarmed  by  twos  and  threes  to  call  the  living  to 

school. 

How  is  this  reason  (which  is  their  reason)  to  judge  a  scholar's 

worth, 
By  casting  a  ball  at  three  straight  sticks  and  defending  the 

same  with  a  fourth? 
But  this  they  do  (which  is  doubtless  a  spell)  and  other  matters 

more  strange, 
Until,  by  the  operation  of  years,  the  hearts  of  their  scholars 

change: 

Till  these  make  come  and  go  great  boats  or  engines  upon  the 

rail 
(But  always  the  English  watch  near  by  to  prop  them  when 

they  fail) ; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  233 

Till  these  make  laws  of  their  own  choice  and  Judges  of  their 

own  blood; 
And  all  the  mad  English  obey  the  Judges  and  say  that  that 

Law  is  good. 

Certainly  they  were  mad  from  of  old;  but  I  think  one  new 

thing, 
That  the  magic  whereby  they  work  their  magic — wherefrom 

their  fortunes  spring — 
May  be  that  they  show  all  peoples  their  magic  and  ask  no 

price  in  return. 
Wherefore,  since  ye  are  bond  to  that  magic,  O  Hubshee,  make 

haste  and  learn! 

Certainly  also  is  Kitchener  mad.     But  one  sure  thing  I 

know — 
If  he  who  broke  you  be  minded  to  teach  you,  to  his  Madrissa 

go! 
Go,  and  carry  your  shoes  in  your  hand  and  bow  your  head 

on  your  breast, 
For  he  who  did  not  slay  you  in  sport,  he  will  not  teach  you 

in  jest. 


LORD  ROBERTS 

1914 

T-IE  passed  in  the  very  battle-smoke 
Of  the  war  that  he  had  descried. 
Three  hundred  mile  of  cannon  spoke 
When  the  Master-Gunner  died. 

He  passed  to  the  very  sound  of  the  guns; 

But,  before  his  eye  grew  dim, 
He  had  seen  the  faces  of  the  sons 

Whose  sires  had  served  with  him. 


234  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

He  had  touched  their  sword-hilts  and  greeted  each 

With  the  old  sure  word  of  praise; 
And  there  was  virtue  in  touch  and  speech 

As  it  had  been  in  old  days. 

So  he  dismissed  them  and  took  his  rest, 
And  the  steadfast  spirit  went  forth 

Between  the  adoring  East  and  West 
And  the  tireless  guns  of  the  North. 

Clean,  simple,  valiant,  well-beloved, 

Flawless  in  faith  and  fame, 
Whom  neither  ease  nor  honours  moved 

An  hair's-breadth  from  his  aim. 

Never  again  the  war-wise  face, 

The  weighed  and  urgent  word 
That  pleaded  in  the  market-place — 

Pleaded  and  was  not  heard! 

Yet  from  his  life  a  new  life  springs 

Through  all  the  hosts  to  come, 
And  Glory  is  the  least  of  things 

That  follow  this  man  home. 


BRIDGE-GUARD  IN  THE  KARROO 

1901 

'     .     .     .     and  will  supply  details  to  guard  the  Btood  River  Bridge ." 
District  Orders — Lines  of  Communication.     South  African  War. 

gUDDEN  the  desert  changes, 

The  raw  glare  softens  and  clings, 
Till  the  aching  Oudtshoorn  ranges 
Stand  up  like  the  thrones  of  Kings — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  235 

Ramparts  of  slaughter  and  peril — 

Blazing,  amazing,  aglow — 
'Twixt  the  sky-line's  belting  beryl 

And  the  wine-dark  flats  below. 


Royal  the  pageant  closes, 

Lit  by  the  last  of  the  sun — 
Opal  and  ash-of-roses, 

Cinnamon,  umber,  and  dun. 

The  twilight  swallows  the  thicket, 
The  starlight  reveals  the  ridge. 

The  whistle  shrills  to  the  picket — 
We  are  changing  guard  on  the  bridge. 

(Few,  forgotten  and  lonely, 
Where  the  empty  metals  shine — 

No,  not  combatants — only 
Details  guarding  the  line.) 

We  slip  through  the  broken  panel 
Of  fence  by  the  ganger's  shed; 

We  drop  to  the  waterless  channel 
And  the  lean  track  overhead; 

We  stumble  on  refuse  of  rations, 
The  beef  and  the  biscuit-tins; 

We  take  our  appointed  stations, 
And  the  endless  night  begins. 

We  hear  the  Hottentot  herders 

As  the  sheep  click  past  to  the  fold — 

And  the  click  of  the  restless  girders 
As  the  steel  contracts  in  the  cold — 


236  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Voices  of  jackals  calling 

And,  loud  in  the  hush  between, 

A  morsel  of  dry  earth  falling 

From  the  flanks  of  the  scarred  ravine. 


And  the  solemn  firmament  marches, 
And  the  hosts  of  heaven  rise 

Framed  through  the  iron  arches — 
Banded  and  barred  by  the  ties, 

Till  we  feel  the  far  track  humming, 
And  we  see  her  headlight  plain, 

And  we  gather  and  wait  her  coming- 
The  wonderful  north-bound  train. 


(Few,  forgotten  and  lonely, 

Where  the  white  car-windows  shine — 
No,  not  combatants — only 

Details  guarding  the  line.) 

Quick,  ere  the  gift  escape  us! 

Out  of  the  darkness  we  reach 
For  a  handful  of  week-old  papers 

And  a  mouthful  of  human  speech. 

And  the  monstrous  heaven  rejoices, 

And  the  earth  allows  again, 
Meetings,  greetings,  and  voices 

Of  women  talking  with  men. 

So  we  return  to  our' places, 
As  out  on  the  bridge  she  rolls; 

And  the  darkness  covers  our  faces, 
And  the  darkness  re-enters  our  souls. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  237 

More  than  a  little  lonely 

Where  the  lessening  tail-lights  shine. 
No — not  combatants — only 

Details  guarding  the  line! 


SOUTH  AFRICA 

i  903 

T   IVED  a  woman  wonderful, 

(May  the  Lord  amend  her!) 
Neither  simple,  kind,  nor  true, 
But  her  Pagan  beauty  drew 
Christian  gentlemen  a  few 
Hotly  to  attend  her. 

Christian  gentlemen  a  few 
From  Berwick  unto  Dover; 

For  she  was  South  Africa, 

And  she  was  South  Africa, 

She  was  Our  South  Africa, 
Africa  all  over  ! 

Half  her  land  was  dead  with  drouth, 

Half  was  red  with  battle; 
She  was  fenced  with  fire  and  sword 
Plague  on  pestilence  outpoured, 
Locusts  on  the  greening  sward 
And  murrain  on  the  cattle! 

True,  ah  true,  and  overtrue. 

That  is  why  we  love  her  ! 
For  she  is  South  Africa, 
And  she  is  South  Africa, 
She  is  Our  South  Africa, 

Africa  all  over  ! 


238  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Bitter  hard  her  lovers  toiled, 
Scandalous  their  payment, — 

Food  forgot  on  trains  derailed; 

Cattle-dung  where  fuel  failed; 

Water  where  the  mules  had  staled; 
And  sackcloth  for  their  raiment! 


So  she  filled  their  mouths  with  dust 
And  their  bones  with  fever; 

Greeted  them  with  cruel  lies; 

Treated  them  despiteful-wise; 

Meted  them  calamities 
Till  they  vowed  to  leave  her! 


They  took  ship  and  they  took  sail, 

Raging,  from  her  borders^- 
In  a  little,  none  the  less, 
They  forgat  their  sore  duresse, 
They  forgave  her  waywardness 
And  returned  for  orders! 


They  esteemed  her  favour  more 
Than  a  Throne's  foundation. 

For  the  glory  of  her  face 

Bade  farewell  to  breed  and  race — 

Yea,  and  made  their  burial-place 
Altar  of  a  Nation ! 


Wherefore,  being  bought  by  blood, 

And  by  blood  restored 
To  the  arms  that  nearly  lost, 
She,  because  of  all  she  cost, 
Stands,  a  very  woman,  most 

Perfect  and  adored! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  239 

On  your  feet,  and  let  them  know 

This  is  why  we  love  her  ! 
For  she  is  South  Africa, 
She  is  Our  South  Africa, 
Is  Our  Own  South  Africa, 

Africa  all  over  ! 


THE  BURIAL 

1902 

(C.  J.  Rhodes,  buried  in  the  Matoppos,  April  10,  1902) 


that  great  Kings  return  to  clay, 
Or  Emperors  in  their  pride, 
Grief  of  a  day  shall  fill  a  day, 

Because  its  creature  died. 
But  we  —  we  reckon  not  with  those 

Whom  the  mere  Fates  ordain, 
This  Power  that  wrought  on  us  and  goes 
Back  to  the  Power  again. 

Dreamer  devout,  by  vision  led 

Beyond  our  guess  or  reach, 
The  travail  of  his  spirit  bred 

Cities  in  place  of  speech. 
So  huge  the  all-mastering  thought  that  drov 

So  brief  the  term  allowed  — 
Nations,  not  words,  he  linked  to  prove 

His  faith  before  the  crowd. 

It  is  his  will  that  he  look  forth 

Across  the  world  he  won  — 
The  granite  of  the  ancient  North  — 

Great  spaces  washed  with  sun. 


24o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

There  shall  he  patient  take  his  seat 
(As  when  the  Death  he  dared), 

And  there  await  a  people's  feet 
In  the  paths  that  he  prepared. 


There,  till  the  vision  he  foresaw 

Splendid  and  whole  arise, 
And  unimagined  Empires  draw 

To  council  'neath  his  skies, 
The  immense  and  brooding  Spirit  still 

Shall  quicken  and  control. 
Living  he  was  the  land,  and  dead, 

His  soul  shall  be  her  soul ! 


THINGS  AND  THE  MAN 

(IN    MEMORIAM,   JOSEPH    CHAMBERLAIN) 
I   904 

'And  Joseph  dreamed  a  dream,  and  he  told  it  his  brethren  and  they  hated 
him  yet  the  more." — Genesis  xxxvii.  5. 

f)H  YE  who  hold  the  written  clue 

To  all  save  all  unwritten  things, 
And,  half  a  league  behind,  pursue 

The  accomplished  Fact  with  flouts  and  flings, 
Look!     To  your  knee  your  baby  brings 
The  oldest  tale  since  Earth  began — 
The  answer  to  your  worry  ings: 
"Once  on  a  time  there  was  a  Man." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  241 

He,  single-handed,  met  and  slew 

Magicians,  Armies,  Ogres,  Kings. 
He  lonely  'mid  his  doubting  crew — 
"In  all  the  loneliness  of  wings" — 
He  fed  the  flame,  he  filled  the  springs, 

He  locked  the  ranks,  he  launched  the  van 
Straight  at  the  grinning  Teeth  of  Things. 
"Once  on  a  time  there  was  a  Man." 


The  peace  of  shocked  Foundations  flew 

Before  his  ribald  questionings. 
He  broke  the  Oracles  in  two, 

And  bared  the  paltry  wires  and  strings. 
He  headed  desert  wanderings; 

He  led  his  soul,  his  cause,  his  clan 
A  little  from  the  ruck  of  Things. 
"Once  on  a  time  there  was  a  Man" 


Thrones,  Powers,  Dominions  block  the  view 

With  episodes  and  underlings — 
The  meek  historian  deems  them  true 
Nor  heeds  the  song  that  Clio  sings — 
The  simple  central  truth  that  stings 

The  mob  to  boo,  the  priest  to  ban; 
Things  never  yet  created  things — 
"Once  on  a  time  there  was  a  Man.1' 


A  bolt  is  fallen  from  the  blue. 

A  wakened  realm  full  circle  swings 
Where  Dothan's  dreamer  dreams  anew 
Of  vast  and  farborne  harvestings; 
And  unto  him  an  Empire  clings 

That  grips  the  purpose  of  his  plan. 
My  Lords,  how  think  you  of  these  things? 
Once — in  our  time — is  there  a  Man  ? 


242  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  SETTLER 

i  903 

(South  African  War  ended,  May,  1902) 

I-JERE,  where  my  fresh-turned  furrows  run, 

And  the  deep  soil  glistens  red, 
I  will  repair  the  wrong  that  was  done 

To  the  living  and  the  dead. 
Here,  where  the  senseless  bullet  fell, 

And  the  barren  shrapnel  burst, 
I  will  plant  a  tree,  I  will  dig  a  well, 

Against  the  heat  and  the  thirst. 


Here,  in  a  large  and  a  sunlit  land, 

Where  no  wrong  bites  to  the  bone, 
I  will  lay  my  hand  in  my  neighbour's  hand, 

And  together  we  will  atone 
For  the  set  folly  and  the  red  breach 

And  the  black  waste  of  it  all; 
Giving  and  taking  counsel  each 

Over  the  cattle-kraal. 


Here  will  we  join  against  our  foes — 

The  hailstroke  and  the  storm, 
And  the  red  and  rustling  cloud  that  blows 

The  locust's  mile-deep  swarm. 
Frost  and  murrain  and  floods  let  loose 

Shall  launch  us  side  by  side 
In  the  holy  wars  that  have  no  truce 

'Twixt  seed  and  harvest-tide. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  243 

Earth,  where  we  rode  to  slay  or  be  slain, 

Our  love  shall  redeem  unto  life. 
We  will  gather  and  lead  to  her  lips  again 

The  waters  of  ancient  strife, 
From  the  far  and  fiercely  guarded  streams 

And  the  pools  where  we  lay  in  wait, 
Till  the  corn  cover  our  evil  dreams 

And  the  young  corn  our  hate. 


And  when  we  bring  old  fights  to  mind, 

We  will  not  remember  the  sin — 
If  there  be  blood  on  his  head  of  my  kind, 

Or  blood  on  my  head  of  his  kin — 
For  the  ungrazed  upland,  the  unfilled  lea 

Cry,  and  the  fields  forlorn: 
"The  dead  must  bury  their  dead,  but  ye- 

Ye  serve  an  host  unborn." 


Bless  then,  Our  God,  the  new-yoked  plough 

And  the  good  beasts  that  draw, 
And  the  bread  we  eat  in  the  sweat  of  our  brow 

According  to  Thy  Law. 
After  us  cometh  a  multitude — 

Prosper  the  work  of  our  hands, 
That  we  may  feed  with  our  land's  food 

The  folk  of  all  our  lands! 


Here,  in  the  waves  and  the  troughs  of  the  plains, 

Where  the  healing  stillness  lies, 
And  the  vast,  benignant  sky  restrains 

And  the  long  days  make  wise — 
Bless  to  our  use  the  rain  and  the  sun 

And  the  blind  seed  in  its  bed, 
That  we  may  repair  the  wrong  that  was  done 

To  the  living  and  the  dead ! 


244  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

SUSSEX 
1902 

("JOB  gave  all  men  all  earth  to  love, 

But  since  our  hearts  are  small, 
Ordained  for  each  one  spot  should  prove 

Beloved  over  all; 
That,  as  He  watched  Creation's  birth, 

So  we,  in  godlike  mood, 
May  of  our  love  create  our  earth 

And  see  that  it  is  good. 

So  one  shall  Baltic  pines  content, 

As  one  some  Surrey  glade, 
Or  one  the  palm-grove's  droned  lament 

Before  Levuka's  Trade. 
Each  to  his  choice,  and  I  rejoice 

The  lot  has  fallen  to  me 
In  a  fair  ground — in  a  fair  ground — 

Yea,  Sussex  by  the  sea! 

No  tender-hearted  garden  crowns, 

No  bosomed  woods  adorn 
Our  blunt,  bow-headed,  whale-backed  Downs, 

But  gnarled  and  writheh  thorn — 
Bare  slopes  where  chasing  shadows  skim, 

And,  through  the  gaps  revealed, 
Belt  upon  belt,  the  wooded,  dim, 

Blue  goodness  of  the  Weald. 

Clean  of  officious  fence  or  hedge, 

Half-wild  and  wholly  tame, 
The  wise  turf  cloaks  the  white  cliff  edge 

As  when  the  Romans  came. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  245 

What  sign  of  those  that  fought  and  died 

At  shift  of  sword  and  sword  ? 
The  barrow  and  the  camp  abide, 

The  sunlight  and  the  sward. 

Here  leaps  ashore  the  full  Sou'west 

All  heavy-winged  with  brine, 
Here  lies  above  the  folded  crest 

The  Channel's  leaden  line; 
And  here  the  sea-fogs  lap  and  cling, 

And  here,  each  warning  each, 
The  sheep-bells  and  the  ship-bells  ring 

Along  the  hidden  beach. 

We  have  no  waters  to  delight 

Our  broad  and  brookless  vales — 
Only  the  dewpond  on  the  height 

Unfed,  that  never  fails — 
Whereby  no  tattered  herbage  tells 

Which  way  the  season  flies — 
Only  our  close-bit  thyme  that  smells 

Like  dawn  in  Paradise. 

Here  through  the  strong  and  shadeless  days 

The  tinkling  silence  thrills; 
Or  little,  lost,  Down  churches  praise 

The  Lord  who  made  the  hills: 
But  here  the  Old  Gods  guard  their  round, 

And,  in  her  secret  heart, 
The  heathen  kingdom  Wilfrid  found 

Dreams,  as  she  dwells,  apart. 

Though  all  the  rest  were  all  my  share, 

With  equal  soul  I'd  see 
Her  nine-and-thirty  sisters  fair, 

Yet  none  more  fair  than  she. 


246  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Choose  ye  your  need  from  Thames  to  Tweed, 

And  I  will  choose  instead 
Such  lands  as  lie  'twixt  Rake  and  Rye, 

Black  Down  and  Beachy  Head. 

I  will  go  out  against  the  sun 

Where  the  rolled  scarp  retires, 
And  the  Long  Man  of  Wilmington 

Looks  naked  toward  the  shires; 
And  east  till  doubling  Rother  crawls 

To  find  the  fickle  tide, 
By  dry  and  sea-forgotten  walls, 

Our  ports  of  stranded  pride. 

I  will  go  north  about  the  shaws 

And  the  deep  ghylls  that  breed 
Huge  oaks  and  old,  the  which  we  hold 

No  more  than  Sussex  weed; 
Or  south  where  windy  Piddinghoe's 

Begilded  dolphin  veers 
And  red  beside  wide-banked  Ouse 

Lie  down  our  Sussex  steers. 


So  to  the  land  our  hearts  we  give 

Till  the  sure  magic  strike, 
And  Memory,  Use,  and  Love  make  live 

Us  and  our  fields  alike — 
That  deeper  than  our  speech  and  thought* 

Beyond  our  reason's  sway, 
Clay  of  the  pit  whence  we  were  wrought 

Yearns  to  its  fellow-clay. 

God  gives  all  men  all  earth  to  love, 
But  since  man's  heart  is  small, 

Ordains  for  each  one  spot  shall  prove 
Beloved  over  all. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  247 

Each  to  his  choice,  and  I  rejoice 

The  lot  has  fallen  to  me 
In  a  fair  ground — in  a  fair  ground — 

Yea,  Sussex  by  the  sea! 


MY  BOY  JACK 

1914-18 

PJAVE  you  news  of  my  boy  Jack?" 

Not  this  tide. 

"When  d'you  think  that  he'll  come  back?1 
Not  with  this  wind  blowing,  and  this  tide. 


"Has  any  one  else  had  word  of  him?" 

Not  this  tide. 
For  what  is  sunk  will  hardly  swim, 

Not  with  this  wind  blowing,  and  this  tide. 


"Oh,  dear,  what  comfort  can  I  find?" 

None  this  tide, 

Nor  any  tide, 
Except  he  did  not  shame  his  kind — 

Not  even  with  that  wind  blowing,  and  that  tide. 


Then  hold  your  head  up  all  the  more. 

This  tide, 

And  every  tide; 
Because  he  was  the  son  you  bore, 

And  gave  to  that  wind  blowing  and  that  tide  ! 


248  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

A  NATIVITY 
1914-18 


E  Babe  was  laid  in  the  Manger 
Between  the  gentle  kine  — 
All  safe  from  cold  and  danger  — 
"But  it  was  not  so  with  mine, 

(With  mine!    With  mine!) 
"Is  it  well  with  the  child,  is  it  well?" 

The  waiting  mother  prayed. 
"For  I  know  not  how  he  fell, 
And  I  know  not  where  he  is  laid." 


A  Star  stood  forth  in  Heaven; 

The  Watchers  ran  to  see 
The  Sign  of  the  Promise  given — 

"But  there  comes  no  sign  to  me. 

(To  me !    To  me !) 
"My  child  died  in  the  dark. 

Is  it  well  with  the  child,  is  it  well? 
There  was  none  to  tend  him  or  mark, 

And  I  know  not  how  he  fell." 


The  Cross  was  raised  on  high; 

The  Mother  grieved  beside — 
"But  the  Mother  saw  Him  die 

And  took  Him  when  He  died. 

(He  died!    He  died!) 
"Seemly  and  undented 

His  burial-place  was  made — 
Is  it  well,  is  it  well  with  the  child? 

For  I  know  not  where  he  is  laid." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  249 

On  the  dawning  of  Easier  Day 

Comes  Mary  Magdalene; 
But  the  Stone  was  rolled  away. 

And  the  Body  was  not  within — 

(Within!    Within!) 
"Ah,  who  will  answer  my  word? 

The  broken  mother  prayed. 
"They  have  taken  away  my  Lord, 

And  I  know  not  where  He  is  laid." 


"  The  Star  stands  forth  in  Heaven. 

The  watchers  watch  in  vain 
For  Sign  of  the  Promise  given 

Of  peace  on  Earth  again — 

(Again!     Again!) 
"But  I  know  for  Whom  he  fell"- 

The  steadfast  mother  smiled, 
"Is  it  well  with  the  child — is  it  well? 

It  is  well — it  is  well  with  the  child!" 


DIRGE  OF  DEAD  SISTERS 

1902 

(For  the  Nurses  who  died  in  the  South  African  War) 

V\/"HO  recalls  the  twilight  and  the  ranged  tents  in  order 

(Violet  peaks  uplifted  through  the  crystal  evening  air?) 

And  the  clink  of  iron  teacups  and  the  piteous,  noble  laughter, 

And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  with  the  dust  upon  their  hair? 

(Now  and  not  hereafter,  while  the  breath  is  in  our  nostrils, 
Now  and  not  hereafter,  ere  the  meaner  years  go  by — 

Let  us  now  remember  many  honourable  women, 

Such  as  bade  us  turn  again  when  we  were  like  to  die.) 


250  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Who  recalls  the  morning  and  the  thunder  through  the  foot- 
hills 

(Tufts  of  fleecy  shrapnel  strung  along  the  empty  plains  ?) 
And  the  sun-scarred  Red-Cross  coaches  creeping  guarded  to 

the  culvert, 
And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  looking  gravely  from  the  trains  ? 

(When  the  days  were  torment  and  the  nights  were  clouded 

terror, 

When  the  Powers  of  Darkness  had  dominion  on  our  soul — 
When  we  fled  consuming  through  the  Seven  Hells  of  Fever, 
These  put  out  their  hands  to  us  and  healed  and  made  us 
whole.) 

Who  recalls  the  midnight  by  the  bridge's  wrecked  abutment 
(Autumn  rain  that  rattled  like  a  Maxim  on  the  tin?) 

And  the  lightning-dazzled  levels  and  the  streaming,  straining 

wagons, 
And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  as  they  bore  the  wounded  in  ? 

(Till  the  pain  was  merciful  and  stunned  us  into  silence — 
When  each  nerve  cried  out  on  God  that  made  the  misused 

clay; 

When  the  Body  triumphed  and  the  last  poor  shame  de- 
parted— 
These  abode  our  agonies  and  wiped  the  sweat  away.) 

Who  recalls  the  noontide  and  the  funerals  through  the  market 
(Blanket-hidden  bodies,  flagless,  followed  by  the  flies?) 

And  the  footsore  firing-party,  and  the  dust  and  stench  and 

staleness, 
And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  and  the  glory  in  their  eyes? 

(Bold  behind  the  battle,  in  the  open  camp  all-hallowed, 
Patient,  wise,  and  mirthful  in  the  ringed  and  reeking  town, 

These  endured  unresting  till  they  rested  from  their  labours — 
Little  wasted  bodies,  ah,  so  light  to  lower  down!) 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  251 

Yet  their  graves  are  scattered  and  their  names  are  clean  for- 
gotten, 

Earth  shall  not  remember,  but  the  Waiting  Angel  knows 
Them  that  died  at  Uitvlugt  when  the  plague  was  on  the  city — 

Her  that  fell  at  Simon's  Town  in  service  on  our  foes. 


Wherefore  we  they  ransomed,  while  the  breath  is  in  our  nostrils, 
Now  and  not  hereafter — ere  the  meaner  years  go  by — 

Praise  with  love  and  worship  many  honourable  women, 
Those  that  gave  their  lives  for  us  when  we  were  like  to  die  ! 


THE  VAMPIRE 

1897 

f^  FOOL  there  was  and  he  made  his  prayer 

(Even  as  you  and  I!) 
To  a  rag  and  a  bone  and  a  hank  of  hair 
(We  called  her  the  woman  who  did  not  care) 
But  the  fool  he  called  her  his  lady  fair — 
(Even  as  you  and  I !) 

Oh,  the  years  we  waste  and  the  tears  we  waste 
And  the  work  of  our  head  and  hand 
Belong  to  the  woman  who  did  not  know 
(And  now  we  know  that  she  never  could  know) 
And  did  not  understand  ! 

A  fool  there  was  and  his  goods  he  spent 

(Even  as  you  and  I!) 

Honour  and  faith  and  a  sure  intent 

(And  it  wasn't  the  least  what  the  lady  meant) 

But  a  fool  must  follow  his  natural  bent 

(Even  as  you  and  I!) 


252  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Oh,  the  toil  we  lost  and  the  spoil  we  lost 
And  the  excellent  things  we  planned 
Belong  to  the  woman  who  didn't  know  why 
(And  now  we  know  that  she  never  knew  why) 
And  did  not  understand  ! 

The  fool  was  stripped  to  his  foolish  hide 

(Even  as  you  and  I !) 

Which  she  might  have  seen  when  she  threw  him  aside- 

(But  it  isn't  on  record  the  lady  tried) 

So  some  of  him  lived  but  the  most  of  him  died — 

(Even  as  you  and  I !) 

"And  it  isn't  the  shame  and  it  isn't  the  blame 
That  stings  like  a  white  hot  brand — 
It's  coming  to  know  that  she  never  knew  why 
(Seeing,  at  last,  she  could  never  know  why) 
And  never  could  understand  !  " 


THE  ENGLISH  FLAG 

1891 

Above  the  portico  a  flag-staff  bearing  the  Union  Jack,  remained  fluttering  in 
the  flames  for  some  time,  but  ultimately  when  it  fell  the  crowds  rent  the  air  with 
shouts,  and  seemed  to  see  significance  in  the  incident. 

DAILY  PAPERS. 

of  the  World,  give  answer!  They  are  whim- 
pering to  and  fro — 

And  what  should  they  know  of  England  who  only  England 
know  ? — 

The  poor  little  street-bred  people  that  vapour  and  fume  and 
brag, 

They  are  lifting  their  heads  in  the  stillness  to  yelp  at  the 
English  Flag! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  253 

Must  we  borrow  a  clout  from  the  Boer — to  plaster  anew  with 

dirt? 

An  Irish  liar's  bandage,  or  an  English  coward's  shirt? 
We  may  not  speak  of  England;  her  Flag's  to  sell  or  share. 
What  is  the  Flag  of  England  ?     Winds  of  the  World,  declare ! 

The  North  Wind  blew: — "From  Bergen  my  steel-shod  van- 
guards go; 

"  I  chase  your  lazy  whalers  home  from  the  Disko  floe. 

"  By  the  great  North  Lights  above  me  I  work  the  will  of  God, 

"And  the  liner  splits  on  the  ice-field  or  the  Dogger  fills  with 
cod. 

"I  barred  my  gates  with  iron,  I  shuttered  my  doors  with 

flame, 

"Because  to  force  my  ramparts  your  nutshell  navies  came. 
"  I  took  the  sun  from  their  presence,  I  cut  them  down  with 

my  blast, 
"And  they  died,  but  the  Flag  of  England  blew  free  ere  the 

spirit  passed. 

"The  lean  white  bear  hath  seen  it  in  the  long,  long  Arctic 

nights, 
"The  musk-ox  knows  the  standard  that  flouts  the  Northern 

Lights: 
"What  is  the  Flag  of  England?     Ye  have  but  my  bergs  to 

dare, 
"Ye  have  but  my  drifts  to  conquer.     Go  forth,  for  it  is 

there!" 


The  South  Wind  sighed: — "From  the  Virgins  my  mid-sea 

course  was  ta'en 

"Over  a  thousand  islands  lost  in  an  idle  main, 
"Where  the  sea-egg  flames  on  the  coral  and  the  long-backed 

breakers  croon 
"Their  endless  ocean  legends  to  the  lazy,  locked  lagoon. 


254  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Strayed  amid  lonely  islets,  mazed  amid  outer  keys, 

"I  waked  the  palms  to  laughter — I  tossed  the  scud  in  the 

breeze. 

"Never  was  isle  so  little,  never  was  sea  so  lone, 
"But  over  the  scud  and  the  palm-trees  an  English  flag  was 

flown. 

"I  have  wrenched  it  free  from  the  halliards  to  hang  for  a 

wisp  on  the  Horn; 
"I  have  chased  it  north  to  the  Lizard — ribboned  and  rolled 

and  torn; 
"I  have  spread  its  fold  o'er  the  dying,  adrift  in  a  hopeless 

sea; 
"  I  have  hurled  it  swift  on  the  slaver,  and  seen  the  slave  set 

free. 

"My  basking  sunfish  know  it,  and  wheeling  albatross, 
"Where  the  lone  wave  fills  with  fire  beneath  the  Southern 

Cross. 
"What  is  the  Flag  of  England?     Ye  have  but  my  reefs  to 

dare, 
"Ye  have  but  my  seas  to  furrow.     Go  forth,  for  it  is  there!" 

The   East  Wind   roared: — "From    the   Kuriles,   the   Bitter 

Seas,  I  come, 
"And  me  men  call  the  Home- Wind,  for  I  bring  the  English 

home. 
"Look — look  well  to  your  shipping!     By  breath  of  my  mad 

typhoon 
"  I  swept  your  close-packed  Praya  and  beached  your  best  at 

Kowloon ! 

"The  reeling  junks  behind  me  and  the  racing  seas  before, 
"I  raped  your  richest  roadstead — I  plundered  Singapore! 
"I  set  my  hand  on  the  Hoogli;  as  a  hooded  snake  she  rose; 
"And   I   flung  your  stoutest  steamers   to  roost  with   the 
startled  crow?. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  255 

Never  the  lotos  closes,  never  the  wild-fowl  wake, 
But  a  soul  goes  out  on  the  East  Wind  that  died  for  Eng- 
land's sake — 

Man  or  woman  or  suckling,  mother  or  bride  or  maid — 
Because  on  the  bones  of  the  English  the  English  Flag  is 
stayed. 


'The  desert-dust  hath  dimmed  it,  the  flying  wild-ass  knows, 
'The  scared  white  leopard  winds  it  across    the  taintless 

snows. 

'  What  is  the  Flag  of  England  ?     Ye  have  but  my  sun  to  dare, 
1  Ye  have  but  my  sands  to  travel.     Go  forth,  for  it  is  there ! " 


The  West  Wind  called: — "In   squadrons   the   thoughtless 

galleons  fly 

"That  bear  the  wheat  and  cattle  lest  street-bred  people  die. 
"They  make  my  might  their  porter,  they  make  my  house 

their  path, 
"Till  I  loose  my  neck  from  their  rudder  and  whelm  them  all 

in  my  wrath. 


"I  draw  the  gliding  fog-bank  as  a  snake  is  drawn  from  the 

hole, 

"They  bellow  one  to  the  other,  the  frighted  ship-bells  toll, 
"  For  day  is  a  drifting  terror  till  I  raise  the  shroud  with  my 

breath, 
"And  they  see  strange  bows  above  them  and  the  two  go 

locked  to  death. 


"But  whether  in  calm  or  wrack-wreath,  whether  by  dark  or 

day, 

"I  heave  them  whole  to  the  conger  or  rip  their  plates  away, 
"  First  of  the  scattered  legions,  under  a  shrieking  sky, 
"Dipping  between  the  rollers,  the  English  Flag  goes  by. 


256  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"The  dead  dumb  fog  hath  wrapped  it — the  frozen  dews 

have  kissed — 

"The  naked  stars  have  seen  it,  a  fellow-star  in  the  mist. 
"What  is  the  Flag  of  England?     Ye  have  but  my  breath  to 

dare, 
"Ye  have  but  my  waves  to  conquer.     Go  forth,  for  it  is 

there!" 


THE  DEAD  KING 

(EDWARD  vn.) 
1910 

in  the  Realm  to-day  lays  down  dear  life  for  the  sake  of 
a  land  more  dear  ? 
Andy   unconcerned  for  his   own   estate,  toils  till  the  last 
grudged  sands  have  run  ? 

Let  him  approach.     It  is  proven  here 

Our  King  asks  nothing  of  any  man  more  than  Our  King  himself 
has  done. 

For  to  him  above  all  was  Life  good,  above  all  he  commanded 

Her  abundance  full-handed. 

The  peculiar  treasure  of  Kings  was  his  for  the  taking: 
All  that  men  come  to  in  dreams  he  inherited  waking: — 

His  marvel  of  world-gathered  armies — one  heart  and  all 
races; 

His  seas  'neath  his  keels  when  his  war-castles  foamed  to  their 
places; 

The  thundering  foreshores  that  answered  his  heralded  land- 
ing; 

The  huge  lighted  cities  adoring,  the  assemblies  upstanding; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  257 

The  Councils  of  Kings  called  in  haste  to  learn  how  he  was 

minded — 
The  Kingdoms,  the  Powers,  and  the  Glories  he  dealt  with 

unblinded. 

To  him  came  all  captains  of  men,  all  achievers  of  glory, 

Hot  from  the  press  of  their  battles  they  told  him  their  story. 

They  revealed  him  their  lives  in  an  hour  and,  saluting,  de- 
parted, 

Joyful  to  labour  afresh — he  had  made  them  new-hearted. 

And,  since  he  weighed  men  from  his  youth,  and  no  lie  long 
deceived  him, 

He  spoke  and  exacted  the  truth,  and  the  basest  believed  him. 

And  God  poured  him  an  exquisite  wine,  that  was  daily  re- 
newed to  him, 

In  the  clear-welling  love  of  his  peoples  that  daily  accrued  to 
him. 

Honour  and  service  we  gave  him,  rejoicingly  fearless; 

Faith  absolute,  trust  beyond  speech  and  a  friendship  as  peer- 
less. 

And  since  he  was  Master  and  Servant  in  all  that  we  asked 

••-••          him, 

We  leaned  hard  on  his  wisdom  in  all  things,  knowing  not  how 
we  tasked  him. 

For  on  him  each  new  day  laid  command,  every  tyrannous 
hour, 

To  confront,  or  confirm,  or  make  smooth  some  dread  issue 
of  power; 

To  deliver  true  judgment  aright  at  the  instant,  unaided, 

In  the  strict,  level,  ultimate  phrase  that  allowed  or  dissuaded; 

To  foresee,  to  allay,  to  avert  from  us  perils  unnumbered, 

To  stand  guard  on  our  gates  when  he  guessed  that  the  watch- 
men had  slumbered; 

To  win  time,  to  turn  hate,  to  woo  folly  to  service  and,  mightily 
schooling 

His  strength  to  the  use  of  his  Nations,  to  rule  as  not  ruling. 


258  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

These  were  the  works  of  our  King;  Earth's  peace  was  the 

proof  of  them. 

God  gave  him  great  works  to  fulfil,  and  to  us  the  behoof  of  them . 
We  accepted  his  toil  as  our  right — none  spared,  none  excused 

him. 

When  he  was  bowed  by  his  burden  his  rest  was  refused  him. 
We  troubled  his  age  with  our  weakness — the  blacker  our 

shame  to  us! 
Hearing  his  People  had  need  of  him,  straightway  he  came  to 

us. 

As  he  received  so  he  gave — nothing  grudged,  naught  denying, 
Not  even  the  last  gasp  of  his  breath  when  he  strove  for  us, 

dying. 
For  our  sakes,  without  question,  he  put  from  him  all  that  he 

cherished. 

Simply  as  any  that  serve  him  he  served  and  he  perished. 
All  that  Kings  covet  was  his,  and  he  flung  it  aside  for  us. 
Simply  as  any  that  die  in  his  service  he  died  for  us! 

Who  in  the  Realm  to-day  has  choice  of  the  easy  road  or  the  hard 

to  tread  ? 

And)  much  concerned  for  his  own  estate,  would  sell  his  soul  to 
remain  in  the  sun  ? 

Let  him  depart  nor  look  on  Our  dead. 

Our  King  asks  nothing  of  any  man  more  than  Our  King  him- 
self has  done. 


WHEN  EARTH'S  LAST  PICTURE  IS  PAINTED 

1892 

"VVTHEN  Earth's  last  picture  is  painted  and  the  tubes  are 

twisted  and  dried, 
When  the  oldest  colours  have  faded,  and  the  youngest  critic 

has  died, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  259 

We  shall  rest,  and,  faith,  we  shall  need  it — lie  down  for  an 

aeon  or  two, 
Till  the  Master  of  All  Good  Workmen  shall  put  us  to  work 

anew. 


And  those  that  were  good  shall  be  happy:  they  shall  sit  in  a 

golden  chair; 
They  shall  splash  at  a  ten-league  canvas  with  brushes  of 

comets'  hair. 
They  shall  find  real  saints  to  draw  from — Magdalene,  Peter, 

and  Paul; 
They  shall  work  for  an  age  at  a  sitting  and  never  be  tired  at 

all! 


And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us,  and  only  the  Master 

shall  blame; 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one  shall  work  for 

fame, 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working,  and  each,  in  his  separate 

star, 
Shall  draw  the  Thing  as  he  sees  It  for  the  God  of  Things  as 

They  are! 


"CLEARED" 

1890 

(In  memory  of  the  Parnell  Commission) 

J-JELP  for  a  patriot  distressed,  a  spotless  spirit  hurt, 

Help  for  an  honourable  clan  sore  trampled  in  the  dirt! 
From  Queenstown  Bay  to  Donegal,  Oh  listen  to  my  song, 
The  honourable  gentlemen  have  suffered  grievous  wrong. 


26o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Their  noble  names  were  mentioned — Oh  the  burning  black 

disgrace ! — 

By  a  brutal  Saxon  paper  in  an  Irish  shooting-case; 
They  sat  upon  it  for  a  year,  then  steeled  their  heart  to  brave 

it, 
And  "coruscating  innocence"  the  learned  Judges  gave  it. 

Bear  witness,  Heaven,  of  that  grim  crime  beneath  the  sur- 
geon's knife, 

The  "honourable  gentlemen"  deplored  the  loss  of  life! 

Bear  witness  of  those  chanting  choirs  that  burk  and  shirk  and 
snigger, 

No  man  laid  hand  upon  the  knife  or  finger  to  the  trigger! 

Cleared  in  the  face  of  all  mankind  beneath  the  winking  skies, 
Like  phoenixes  from  Phoenix  Park  (and  what  lay  there)  they 

rise! 

Go  shout  it  to  the  emerald  seas — give  word  to  Erin  now, 
Her  honourable  gentlemen  are  cleared — and  this  is  how: — 
' 

They  only  paid  the  Moonlighter  his  cattle-hocking  price, 
They  only  helped  the  murderer  with  counsel's  best  advice, 
But — sure  it  keeps  their  honour  white — the  learned  Court 

believes 
They  never  give  a  piece  of  plate  to  murderers  and  thieves. 

They  never  told  the  ramping  crowd  to  card  a  woman's  hide, 
They  never  marked  a  man  for  death — what  fault  of  theirs 

he  died?— 

They  only  said  "intimidate,"  and  talked  and  went  away — 
By  God,  the  boys  that  did  the  work  were  braver  men  than 

they! 

Their  sin  it  was  that  fed  the  fire — small  blame  to  them  that 

heard — 
The  boys  get  drunk  on  rhetoric,  and  madden  at  a  word — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918        •  261 

They  knew  whom  they  were  talking  at,  if  they  were  Irish  too, 
The  gentlemen  that  lied  in  Court,  they  knew,  and  well  they 
knew! 


They  only  took  the  Judas-gold  from  Fenians  out  of  jail, 
They  only  fawned  for  dollars  on  the  blood-dyed  Clan-na- 

Gael. 
If  black  is  black  or  white  is  white,  in  black  and  white  it's 

down, 
They're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen  and  rebels  to  the  Crown. 


"Cleared,"    honourable    gentlemen!     Be    thankful    it's    no 

more: — 
The  widow's  curse  is  on  your  house,  the  dead  are  at  your 

door. 

On  you  the  shame  of  open  shame;  on  you  from  North  to  South 
The  hand  of  every  honest  man  flat-heeled  across  your  mouth. 


"Less  black  than  we  were  painted"? — Faith,  no  word  of 

black  was  said; 
The  lightest  touch  was  human  blood,  and  that,  you  know, 

runs  red. 

It's  sticking  to  your  fist  to-day  for  all  your  sneer  and  scoff, 
And  by  the  Judge's  well-weighed  word  you  cannot  wipe  it  off. 


Hold  up  those  hands  of  innocence — go,  scare  your  sheep 
together, 

The  blundering,  tripping  tups  that  bleat  behind  the  old  bell- 
wether; 

And  if  they  snuff  the  taint  and  break  to  find  another  pen, 

Tell  them  it's  tar  that  glistens  so,  and  daub  them  yours  again ! 


262  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"The  charge  is  old"? — As  old  as  Cain — as  fresh  as  yesterday; 
Old  as  the  Ten  Commandments — have  ye  talked  those  laws 

away? 
If  words  are  words,  or  death  is  death,  or  powder  sends  the 

ball, 
You  spoke  the  words  that  sped  the  shot — the  curse  be  on 

you  all. 


"Our  friends  believe"?  Of  course  they  do — as  sheltered 
women  may; 

But  have  they  seen  the  shrieking  soul  ripped  from  the  quiver- 
ing clay? 

They! — If  their  own  frontdoor  is  shut,  they'll  swear  the  whole 
world's  warm; 

What  do  they  know  of  dread  of  death  or  hanging  fear  of  harm  ? 


The  secret  half  a  county  keeps,  the  whisper  in  the  lane, 
The  shriek  that  tells  the  shot  went  home  behind  the  broken 

pane, 

The  dry  blood  crisping  in  the  sun  that  scares  the  honest  bees, 
And  shows  the  boys  have  heard  your  talk — what  do  they 

know  of  these  ? 


But  you — you  know — ay,  ten  times  more;  the  secrets  of 

the  dead, 

Black  terror  on  the  country-side  by  word  and  whisper  bred, 
The  mangled  stallion's  scream   at  night,   the   tail-cropped 

heifer's  low. 
Who  set  the  whisper  going  first?     You  know,  and  well  you 

know! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  263 

My  soul !     I'd  sooner  lie  in  jail  for  murder  plain  and  straight, 
Pure  crime  I'd  done  with  my  own  hand  for  money,  lust,  or 

hate 

Than  take  a  seat  in  Parliament  by  fellow-felons  cheered, 
While  one  of  those  "not  provens"  proved  me  cleared  as  you 

are  cleared. 

Cleared — you  that  "lost"  the  League  accounts — go,  guard 

our  honour  still, 
Go,  help  to  make  our  country's  laws  that  broke  God's  law 

at  will — 

One  hand  stuck  out  behind  the  back,  to  signal  "strike  again''; 
The  other  on  your  dress-shirt-front  to  show  your  heart  is 

clane. 


If  black  is  black  or  white  is  white,  in  black  and  white  it's 
down, 

You're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen  and  rebels  to  the  Crown. 

If  print  is  print  or  words  are  words,  the  learned  Court  per- 
pends:— 

We  are  not  ruled  by  murderers,  but  only — by  their  friends. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  RED  EARL 

1891 

(It  is  not  for  them  to  criticize  too  minutely  the  methods  the  Irish  followed, 
though  they  might  deplore  some  of  their  results.  During  the  past  few  years 
Ireland  had  been  going  through  what  was  tantamount  to  a  revolution.  — 
EARL  SPENCER) 


EARL,  and  will  ye  take  for  guide 
The  silly  camel-birds, 
That  ye  bury  your  head  in  an  Irish  thorn, 
On  a  desert  of  drifting  words? 


264  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Ye  have  followed  a  man  for  a  God,  Red  Earl, 
As  the  Lord  o'  Wrong  and  Right; 

But  the  day  is  done  with  the  setting  sun — 
Will  ye  follow  into  the  night? 

He  gave  you  your  own  old  words,  Red  Earl, 

For  food  on  the  wastrel  way; 
Will  ye  rise  and  eat  in  the  night,  Red  Earl, 

That  fed  so  full  in  the  day? 

Ye  have  followed  fast,  ye  have  followed  far, 
And  where  did  the  wandering  lead? 

From  the  day  that  ye  praised  the  spoken  word 
To  the  day  ye  must  gloss  the  deed. 


And  as  ye  have  given  your  hand  for  gain, 

So  must  ye  give  in  loss; 
And  as  ye  ha'  come  to  the  brink  of  the  pit, 

So  must  ye  loup  across. 

For  some  be  rogues  in  grain,  Red  Earl, 

And  some  be  rogues  in  fact, 
And  rogues  direct  and  rogues  elect; 

But  all  be  rogues  in  pact. 

Ye  have  cast  your  lot  with  these,  Red  Earl; 

Take  heed  to  where  ye  stand. 
Ye  have  tied  a  knot  with  your  tongue,  Red  Earl, 

That  ye  cannot  loose  with  your  hand. 

Ye  have  travelled  fast,  ye  have  travelled  far, 

In  the  grip  of  a  tightening  tether, 
Till  ye  find  at  the  end  ye  must  take  for  friend 

The  quick  and  their  dead  together. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  265 

Ye  have  played  with  the  Law  between  your  lips, 

And  mouthed  it  daintilee; 
But  the  gist  o'  the  speech  is  ill  to  teach, 

For  ye  say:     "Let  wrong  go  free." 


Red  Earl,  ye  wear  the  Garter  fair, 
And  gat  your  place  from  a  King: 

Do  ye  make  Rebellion  of  no  account, 
And  Treason  a  little  thing? 


And  have  ye  weighed  your  words,  Red  Earl, 

That  stand  and  speak  so  high? 
And  is  it  good  that  the  guilt  o'  blood, 

Be  cleared  at  the  cost  of  a  sigh? 


And  is  it  well  for  the  sake  of  peace, 
Our  tattered  Honour  to  sell, 

And  higgle  anew  with  a  tainted  crew — 
Red  Earl,  and  is  it  well? 


Ye  have  followed  fast,  ye  have  followed  far, 

On  a  dark  and  doubtful  way, 
And  the  road  is  hard,  is  hard,  Red  Earl, 

And  the  price  is  yet  to  pay. 


Ye  shall  pay  that  price  as  ye  reap  reward 

For  the  toil  of  your  tongue  and  pen — 
In  the  praise  of  the  blamed  and  the  thanks  of  the  shamed, 

And  the  honour  o'  knavish  men. 


266  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  scarce  shall  veil  their  scorn,  Red  Earl, 
And  the  worst  at  the  last  shall  be, 

When  you  tell  your  heart  that  it  does  not  know 
And  your  eye  that  it  does  not  see. 


ULSTER 


1912 

("Their  webs  shall  not  become  garments,  neither  shall  they  cover  them- 
selves with  their  works:  their  works  are  works  of  iniquity  and  the  act  of 
violence  is  in  their  hands." — Isaiah  lix.  6.) 

HPHE  dark  eleventh  hour 

Draws  on  and  sees  us  sold 
To  every  evil  power 
We  fought  against  of  old. 
Rebellion,  rapine,  hate, 
Oppression,  wrong  and  greed 
Are  loosed  to  rule  our  fate, 
By  England's  act  and  deed. 


The  Faith  in  which  we  stand, 
The  laws  we  made  and  guard, 
Our  honour,  lives,  and  land 
Are  given  for  reward 
To  Murder  done  by  night, 
To  Treason  taught  by  day, 
To  folly,  sloth,  and  spite, 
And  we  are  thrust  away. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  267 

The  blood  our  fathers  spilt, 
Our  love,  our  toils,  our  pains, 
Are  counted  us  for  guilt, 
And  only  bind  our  chains. 
Before  an  Empire's  eyes 
The  traitor  claims  his  price. 
What  need  of  further  lies? 
We  are  the  sacrifice. 


We  asked  no  more  than  leave 
To  reap  where  we  had  sown, 
Through  good  and  ill  to  cleave 
To  our  own  flag  and  throne. 
Now  England's  shot  and  steel 
Beneath  that  flag  must  show 
How  loyal  hearts  should  kneel 
To  England's  oldest  foe. 

We  know  the  war  prepared 
On  every  peaceful  home, 
We  know  the  hells  declared 
For  such  as  serve  not  Rome — 
The  terror,  threats,  and  dread 
In  market,  hearth,  and  field — 
We  know,  when  all  is  said, 
We  perish  if  we  yield. 

Believe,  we  dare  not  boast, 
Believe,  we  do  not  fear — 
We  stand  to  pay  the  cost 
In  all  that  men  hold  dear. 
What  answer  from  the  North? 
One  Law,  one  Land,  one  Throne. 
If  England  drive  us  forth 
We  shall  not  fall  alone! 


268  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST 

1889 

QH,  EAST  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  twain 

shall  meet, 
Till  Earth  and  Sky  stand  presently  at  God's  great  Judgment 

Seat; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed,  nor 

Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  though  they  come  from 

the  ends  of  the  earth  ! 

Kamal  is  out  with  twenty  men  to  raise  the  Border  side, 
And  he  has  lifted  the  Colonel's  mare  that  is  the  Colonel's 

pride. 
He  has  lifted  her  out  of  the  stable-door  between  the  dawn  and 

the  day, 
And  turned  the  calkins  upon  her  feet,  and  ridden  her  far 

away. 
Then  up  and  spoke  the  Colonel's  son  that  led  a  troop  of  the 

Guides: 
"Is  there  never  a  man  of  all  my  men  can  say  where  Kamal 

hides?" 
Then  up  and  spoke  Mohammed  Khan,  the  son  of  the  Res- 

saldar: 
"  If  ye  know  the  track  of  the  morning-mist,  ye  know  where 

his  pickets  are. 

"At  dusk  he  harries  the  Abar.ai — at  dawn  he  is  into  Bonair, 
"But  he  must  go  by  Fort  Bukloh  to  his  own  place  to  fare. 
"So  if  ye  gallop  to  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast  as  a  bird  can  fly, 
"By  the  favour  of  God  ye  may  cut  him  off  ere  he  win  to  the 

Tongue  of  Jagai. 
"But  if  he  be  past  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  right  swiftly  turn 

ye  then, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  269 

"For  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  that  grisly  plain  is  sown 

with  Kamal's  men. 
"There  is  rock  to  the  left,  and  rock  to  the  right,  and  low  lean 

thorn  between, 
"And  ye  may  hear  a  breech-bolt  snick  where  never  a  man  is 

seen." 
The  Colonel's  son  has  taken  a  horse,  and  a  raw  rough  dun 

was  he, 
With  the  mouth  of  a  bell  and  the  heart  of  Hell  and  the  head 

of  a  gallows-tree. 
The  Colonel's  son  to  the  Fort  has  won,  they  bid  him  stay  to 

eat — 
Who  rides  at  the  tail  of  a  Border  thief,  he  sits  not  long  at  his 

meat. 
He's  up   and   away  from   Fort  Bukloh   as  fast   as  he  can 

fly. 

Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  in  the  gut  of  the  Tongue 

of  Jagai, 
Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  with  Kamal  upon  her 

back, 
And  when  he  could  spy  the  white  of  her  eye,  he  made  the 

pistol  crack. 
He  has  fired  once,  he  has  fired  twice,  but  the  whistling  ball 

went  wide. 
"Ye  shoot  like  a  soldier,"  Kamal  said.     "Show  now  if  ye 

can  ride!" 
It's  up  and  over  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  as  blown  dust-devils 

g°> 
The  dun  he  fled  like  a  stag  of  ten,  but  the  mare  like  a  barren 

doe. 

The  dun  he  leaned  against  the  bit  and  slugged  his  head  above, 
But  the  red  mare  played  with  the  snaffle-bars,  as  a  maiden 

plays  with  a  glove. 
There  was  rock  to  the  left  and  rock  to  the  right,  and  low  lean 

thorn  between, 
And  thrice  he  heard  a  breech-bolt  snick  tho'  never  a  man  was 

seen. 


27o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  have  ridden  the  low  moon  out  of  the  sky,  their  hoofs 

drum  up  the  dawn, 
The  dun  he  went  like  a  wounded  bull,  but  the  mare  like  a 

new-roused  fawn. 

*  The  dun  he  fell  at  a  water-course — in  a  woeful  heap  fell  he, 
And  Kamal  has  turned  the  red  mare  back,  and  pulled  the 

rider  free. 
He  has  knocked  the  pistol  out  of  his  hand — small  room  was 

there  to  strive, 
"  'T  was  only  by  favour  of  mine,"  quoth  he,  "ye  rode  so  long 

alive: 
"There  was  not  a  rock  for  twenty  mile,  there  was  not  a  clump 

of  tree, 
"But  covered  a  man  of  my  own  men  with  his  rifle  cocked  on 

his  knee. 

"If  I  had  raised  my  bridle-hand,  as  I  have  held  it  low, 
"The  little  jackals  that  flee  so  fast  were  feasting  all  in  a 

row. 

"  If  I  had  bowed  my  head  on  my  breast,  as  I  have  held  it  high, 
"The  kite  that  whistles  above  us  now  were  gorged  till  she 

could  not  fly." 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son:     "Do  good  to  bird  and 

beast, 
"But  count  who  come  for  the  broken  meats  before  thou 

makest  a  feast. 
"If  there  should  follow  a  thousand  swords  to  carry  my  bones 

away, 
"Belike  the  price  of  a  jackal's  meal  were  more  than  a  thief 

could  pay. 
"They  will  feed  their  horse  on  the  standing  crop,  their  men 

on  the  garnered  grain, 
"The  thatch  of  the  byres  will  serve  their  fires  when  all  the 

cattle  are  slain. 
"But  if  thou  thinkest  the  price  be  fair, — thy  brethren  wait 

to  sup, 
"The  hound  is  kin  to  the  jackal-spawn, — howl,  dog,  and  call 

them  up! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  271 

"And  if  thou  thinkest  the  price  be  high,  in  steer  and  gear  and 

stack, 
"Give  me  my  father's  mare  again,  and  I'll  fight  my  own  way 

back!" 
Kamal  has  gripped  him  by  the  hand  and  set  him  upon  his 

feet. 
"No  talk  shall  be  of  dogs,"  said  he,  "when  wolf  and  grey 

wolf  meet. 

"May  I  eat  dirt  if  thou  hast  hurt  of  me  in  deed  or  breath; 
"What  dam  of  lances  brought  thee  forth  to  jest  at  the  dawn 

with  Death?" 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son:  "I  hold  by  the  blood  of 

my  clan: 
"Take  up  the  mare  for  my  father's  gift — by  God,  she  has 

carried  a  man!" 
The  red  mare  ran  to  the  Colonel's  son,  and  nuzzled  against 

his  breast; 
"We  be  two  strong  men,"  said  Kamal  then,  "but  she  loveth 

the  younger  best. 
"So  she  shall  go  with  a  lifter's  dower,  my  turquoise-studded 

rein, 
"My  'broidered  saddle  and  saddle-cloth,  and  silver  stirrups 

twain." 

The  Colonel's  son  a  pistol  drew,  and  held  it  muzzle-end, 
"Ye  have  taken  the  one  from  a  foe,"  said  he;  "Will  ye  take 

the  mate  from  a  friend?" 
"A  gift  for  a  gift,"  said  Kamal  straight;  "a  limb  for  the  risk 

of  a  limb. 

"Thy  father  has  sent  his  son  to  me,  I'll  send  my  son  to  him!" 
With  that  he  whistled  his  only  son,  that  dropped  from  a 

mountain-crest — 
He  trod  the  ling  like  a  buck  in  spring,  and  he  looked  like  a 

lance  in  rest. 
"Now  here  is  thy  master,"  Kamal  said,  "who  leads  a  troop  of 

the  Guides, 
"And  thou  must  ride  at  his  left  side  as  shield  on  shoulder 

rides. 


272  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Till  Death  or  I  cut  loose  the  tie,  at  camp  and  board  and  bed, 
"Thy  life  is  his — thy  fate  it  is  to  guard  him  with  thy  head. 
"So,  thou  must  eat  the  White  Queen's  meat,  and  all  her  foes 

are  thine, 
"And  thou  must  harry  thy  father's  hold  for  the  peace  of  the 

Border-line. 
"And  thou  must  make  a  trooper  tough  and  hack  thy  way  to 

power — 
"  Belike  they  will  raise  thee  to  Ressaldar  when  I  am  hanged  in 

Peshawur." 

They  have  looked  each  other  between  the  eyes,  and  there 

they  found  no  fault, 
They   have   taken    the   Oath   of  the   Brother-in-Blood   on 

leavened  bread  and  salt: 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood  on  fire 

and  fresh-cut  sod, 

On  the  hilt  and  the  haft  of  the  Khyber  knife,  and  the  Won- 
drous Names  of  God. 

The  Colonel's  son  he  rides  the  mare  and  Kamal's  boy  the  dun, 
And  two  have  come  back  to  Fort  Bukloh  where  there  went 

forth  but  one. 
And  when  they  drew  to  the  Quarter-Guard,  full  twenty 

swords  flew  clear — 
There  was  not  a  man  but  carried  his  feud  with  the  blood  of 

the  mountaineer. 
"Ha'  done!  ha'  done!"  said  the  Colonel's  son.     "Put  up  the 

steel  at  your  sides! 
"Last  night  ye  had  struck  at  a  Border  thief — to-night  't  is 

a  man  of  the  Guides!" 

Oh,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  twain  shall 

meet, 

Till  Earth  and  Sky  stand  presently  at  God's  great  Judgment  Seat; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed,  nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  though  they  come  from 

the  ends  of  the  earth  I 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  273 


THE  LAST  SUTTEE 


1889 

Not  many  years  ago  a  King  died  in  one  of  the  Rajpoot  States.  His  wives, 
disregarding  the  orders  of  the  English  against  Suttee,  would  have  broken  out  of 
the  palace  and  burned  themselves  with  the  corpse  had  not  the  gates  been  barred. 
But  one  of  them,  disguised  as  the  King' s  favourite  dancing-girl,  passed  through 
the  line  of  guards  and  reached  the  pyre.  There,  her  courage  failing,  she  prayed 
her  cousin,  a  baron  of  the  King's  court,  to  kill  her.  This  he  did,  not  knowing 
-who  she  was. 

JJDAI  CHAND  lay  sick  to  death 

In  his  hold  by  Gungra  hill. 
All  night  we  heard  the  death-gongs  ring, 
For  the  soul  of  the  dying  Rajpoot  King, 
All  night  beat  up  from  the  women's  wing 
A  cry  that  we  could  not  still. 


All  night  the  barons  came  and  went, 

The  Lords  of  the  Outer  Guard. 
All  night  the  cressets  glimmered  pale 
On  Ulwar  sabre  and  Tonk  jezail, 
'Mewar  headstall  and  Marwar  mail, 
That  clinked  in  the  palace  yard. 


In  the  Golden  Room  on  the  palace  roof 

All  night  he  fought  for  air: 
And  there  were  sobbings  behind  the  screen, 
Rustle  and  whisper  of  women  unseen, 
And  the  hungry  eyes  of  the  Boondi  Queen 

On  the  death  she  might  not  share. 


274  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

He  passed  at  dawn — the  death-fire  leaped 

From  ridge  to  river-head, 
From  the  Malwa  plains  to  the  Abu  scars: 
And  wail  upon  wail  went  up  to  the  stars 
Behind  the  grim  zenana-bars, 

When  they  knew  that  the  King  was  dead. 


The  dumb  priest  knelt  to  tie  his  mouth 

And  robe  him  for  the  pyre. 
The  Boondi  Queen  beneath  us  cried: 
"See,  now,  that  we  die  as  our  mothers  died 
"In  the  bridal-bed  by  our  master's  side! 

"Out,  women! — to  the  fire!" 


We  drove  the  great  gates  home  apace — 

White  hands  were  on  the  sill — 
But  ere  the  rush  of  the  unseen  feet 
Had  reached  the  turn  to  the  open  street, 
The  bars  shot  down,  the  guard-drum  beat — 

We  held  the  dovecot  still. 


A  face  looked  down  in  the  gathering  day, 
And  laughing  spoke  from  the  wall: 

"Ohe,  they  mourn  here:  let  me  by — 

"Azizun,  the  Lucknow  nautch-girl,  I! 

"When  the  house  is  rotten,  the  rats  must  fly, 
"And  I  seek  another  thrall. 


"  For  I  ruled  the  King  as  ne'er  did  Queen, — 

"To-night  the  Queens  rule  me! 
"Guard  them  safely,  but  let  me  go, 
"Or  ever  they  pay  the  debt  they  owe 
"In  scourge  and  torture!"     She  leaped  below. 

And  the  grim  guard  watched  her  flee. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  275 

They  knew  that  the  King  had  spent  his  soul 

On  a  North-bred  dancing-girl: 
That  he  prayed  to  a  flat-nosed  Lucknow  god, 
And  kissed  the  ground  where  her  feet  had  trod, 
And  doomed  to  death  at  her  drunken  nod, 

And  swore  by  her  lightest  curl. 


We  bore  the  King  to  his  fathers'  place, 
Where  the  tombs  of  the  Sun-born  stand: 

Where  the  grey  apes  swing,  and  the  peacocks  preen 

On  fretted  pillar  and  jewelled  screen, 

And  the  wild  boar  couch  in  the  house  of  the  Queen 
On  the  drift  of  the  desert  sand. 


The  herald  read  his  titles  forth 

We  set  the  logs  aglow: 
"Friend  of  the  English,  free  from  fear, 
"  Baron  of  Luni  to  Jeysulmeer, 
"Lord  of  the  Desert  of  Bikaneer, 

"  King  of  the  Jungle, — go!" 


All  night  the  red  flame  stabbed  the  sky 

With  wavering  wind-tossed  spears: 
And  out  of  a  shattered  temple  crept 
A  woman  who  veiled  her  head  and  wept, 
And  called  on  the  King — but  the  great  King  slept, 

And  turned  not  for  her  tears. 


One  watched,  a  bow-shot  from  the  blaze, 

The  silent  streets  between, 
Who  had  stood  by  the  King  in  sport  and  fray, 
To  blade  in  ambush  or  boar  at  bay, 
And  he  was  a  baron  old  and  grey, 

And  kin  to  the  Boondi  Queen. 


276  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Small  thought  had  he  to  mark  the  strife — 

Cold  fear  with  hot  desire — 
When  thrice  she  leaped  from  the  leaping  flame, 
And  thrice  she  beat  her  breast  for  shame, 
And  thrice  like  a  wounded  dove  she  came 

And  moaned  about  the  fire. 


He  said:  "O  shameless,  put  aside 

"The  veil  upon  thy  brow! 
"Who  held  the  King  and  all  his  land 
"To  the  wanton  will  of  a  harlot's  hand! 
"Will  the  white  ash  rise  from  the  blistered  brand? 

"Stoop  down,  and  call  him  now!" 


Then  she:  "By  the  faith  of  my  tarnished  soul, 

"All  things  I  did  not  well, 
"I  had  hoped  to  clear  ere  the  fire  died, 
"And  lay  me  down  by  my  master's  side 
"To  rule  in  Heaven  his  only  bride, 

"While  the  others  howl  in  Hell. 


"But  I  have  felt  the  fire's  breath, 

"And  hard  it  is  to  die! 
"Yet  if  I  may  pray  a  Rajpoot  lord 
"To  sully  the  steel  of  a  Thakur's  sword 
"With  base-born  blood  of  a  trade  abhorred 
And  the  Thakur  answered,  "Ay." 


He  drew  and  struck:  the  straight  blade  drank 

The  life  beneath  the  breast. 
"I  had  looked  for  the  Queen  to  face  the  flame, 
"But  the  harlot  dies  for  the  Rajpoot  dame — 
"Sister  of  mine,  pass,  free  from  shame. 

"Pass  with  thy  King  to  rest!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  277 

The  black  log  crashed  above  the  white: 

The  little  flames  and  lean, 
Red  as  slaughter  and  blue  as  steel, 
That  whistled  and  fluttered  from  head  to  heel, 
Leaped  up  anew,  for  they  found  their  meal 

On  the  heart  of — the  Boondi  Queen ! 


GENERAL  JOUBERT 

1900 

(Died,  South  African  War,  March  27,  1900) 

those  that  bred,  with  those  that  loosed  the  strife, 
He  had  no  part  whose  hands  were  clear  of  gain; 
But  subtle,  strong,  and  stubborn,  gave  his  life 
To  a  lost  cause,  and  knew  the  gift  was  vain. 

Later  shall  rise  a  people,  sane  and  great, 

Forged  in  strong  fires,  by  equal  war  made  one; 

Telling  old  battles  over  without  hate — 

Not  least  his  name  shall  pass  from  sire  to  son. 

He  may  not  meet  the  onsweep  of  our  van 
In  the  doomed  city  when  we  close  the  score; 

Yet  o'er  his  grave — his  grave  that  holds  a  man — 
Our  deep-tongued  guns  shall  answer  his  once  more! 


GEHAZI  c 

1915 

"^/"HENCE  comest  thou,  Gehazi, 

So  reverend  to  behold, 
In  scarlet  and  in  ermines 

And  chain  of  England's  gold?" 


278  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"  From  following  after  Naaman 

To  tell  him  all  is  well, 
Whereby  my  zeal  hath  made  me 

A  Judge  in  Israel." 

Well  done,  well  done,  Gehazi! 

Stretch  forth  thy  ready  hand, 
Thou  barely  'scaped  from  judgment, 

Take  oath  to  judge  the  land 
Unswayed  by  gift  of  money 

Or  privy  bribe,  more  base, 
Of  knowledge  which  is  profit 

In  any  market-place. 

Search  out  and  probe,  Gehazi, 

As  thou  of  all  canst  try, 
The  truthful,  well-weighed  answer 

That  tells  the  blacker  lie— 
The  loud,  uneasy  virtue 

The  anger  feigned  at  will, 
To  overbear  a  witness 

And  make  the  Court  keep  still. 

Take  order  now,  Gehazi, 

That  no  man  talk  aside 
In  secret  with  his  judges 

The  while  his  case  is  tried. 
Lest  he  should  show  them — reason 

To  keep  a  matter  hid, 
And  subtly  lead  the  questions 

Away  from  what  he  did. 

Thou  mirror  of  uprightness, 
What  ails  thee  at  thy  vows? 

What  means  the  risen  whiteness 
Of  the  skin  between  thy  brows? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  279 

The  boils  that  shine  and  burrow, 

The  sores  that  slough  and  bleed — 
The  leprosy  of  Naaman 
On  thee  and  all  thy  seed? 
Stand  up,  stand  up,  Gehazi, 

Draw  close  thy  robe  and  go, 
Gehazi,  Judge  in  Israel, 
A  leper  white  as  snow! 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  MERCY 

1889 


RAHMAN,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the 

story  told. 

His  mercy  fills  the  Khyber  hills  —  his  grace  is  manifold; 
He  has  taken  toll  of  the  North  and  the  South  —  his  glory 

reachethfar, 
And  they  tell  the  tale  of  his  charity  from  Balkh  to  Kandahar. 

Before  the  old  Peshawur  Gate,  where  Kurd  and  Kaffir  meet, 
The  Governor  of  Kabul  dealt  the  Justice  of  the  Street, 
And  that  was  strait  as  running  noose  and  swift  as  plunging 

knife, 

Tho'  he  who  held  the  longer  purse  might  hold  the  longer  life. 
There  was  a  hound  of  Hindustan  had  struck  a  Euzufzai, 
Wherefore  they  spat  upon  his  face  and  led  him  out  to  die. 
It  chanced  the  King  went  forth  that  hour  when  throat  was 

bared  to  knife; 
The  Kaffir  grovelled  under-hoof  and  clamoured  for  his  life. 

Then  said  the  King:  "Have  hope,  O  friend!     Yea,  Death 

disgraced  is  hard. 
"Much  honour  shall  be  thine;"  and  called  the  Captain  of  the 

Guard, 


280  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Yar  Khan,  a  bastard  of  the  Blood,  so  city-babble  saith, 
And  he  was  honoured  of  the  King — the  which  is  salt  to 

Death; 

And  he  was  son  of  Daoud  Shah,  the  Reiver  of  the  Plains, 
And  blood  of  old  Durani  Lords  ran  fire  in  his  veins; 
And  'twas  to  tame  an  Afghan  pride  nor  Hell  nor  Heaven 

could  bind, 
The  King  would  make  him  butcher  to  a  yelping  cur  of  Hind. 

"Strike!"    said    the    King.     "King's    blood    art    thou — his 

death  shall  be  his  pride!" 
Then  louder,  that  the  crowd  might  catch:     "Fear  not — his 

arms  are  tied!" 
Yar  Khan  drew  clear  the  Khyber  knife,  and  struck,  and 

sheathed  again. 
"O  man,  thy  will  is  done,"  quoth  he;  "A  King  this  dog  hath 

slain." 

Abdhur  Rahman,  the  Durani  Chief,  to  the  North  and  the 
South  is  sold. 

The  North  and  the  South  shall  open  their  mouth  to  a 
Ghilzai  flag  unrolled, 

When  the  big  guns  speak  to  the  Khyber  peak,  and  his  dog- 
Herat  is  fly: 

Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long  ?  How  long  ?  Wolves 
of  the  Abazai ! 

That  night  before  the  watch  was  set,  when  all  the  streets 

were  clear, 
The  Governor  of  Kabul  spoke:     "My  King,  hast  thou  no 

fear? 
"Thou  knowest — thou  hast  heard," — his  speech  died  at  his 

master's  face. 

And  grimly  said  the  Afghan  King:  "I  rule  the  Afghan  race. 
"  My  path  is  mine — see  thou  to  thine.  To-night  upon  thy  bed 
"Think  who  there  be  in  Kabul  now  that  clamour  for  thy 

head." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  281 

That  night  when  all  the  gates  were  shut  to  City  and  to  throne, 
Within  a  little  garden-house  the  King  lay  down  alone. 
Before  the  sinking  of  the  moon,  which  is  the  Night  of  Night, 
Yar  Khan  came  softly  to  the  King  to  make  his  honour  white. 
The  children  of  the  town  had  mocked  beneath  his  horse's 

hoofs, 
The  harlots  of  the  town  had  hailed  him  "  butcher! "  from  their 

roofs. 

But  as  he  groped  against  the  wall,  two  hands  upon  him  fell, 
The  King  behind  his  shoulder  spake:  "Dead  man,  thou  dost 

not  well! 

"  T  is  ill  to  jest  with  Kings  by  day  and  seek  a  boon  by  night; 
"And  that  thou  bearest  in  thy  hand  is  all  too  sharp  to  write. 
"  But  three  days  hence,  if  God  be  good,  and  if  thy  strength 

remain, 

"Thou  shalt  demand  one  boon  of  me  and  bless  me  in  thy  pain. 
"For  I  am  merciful  to  all,  and  most  of  all  to  thee. 
"  My  butcher  of  the  shambles,  rest — no  knife  hast  thou  for 

me!" 

Abdhur  Rahman^  the  Durani  Chief ',  holds  hard  by  the  South 

and  the  North; 
But  the  Ghilzai  knows,  ere  the  melting  snows,  when  the 

swollen  banks  break  forth, 
When  the  red-coats  crawl  to  the  sungar  wall,  and  his  Usbeg 

lances  fail: 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long  ?     How  long  ?     Wolves 

oftheZuka  Kheyl! 

They  stoned  him  in  the  rubbish-field  when  dawn  was  in  the 

sky, 

According  to  the  written  word,  "See  that  he  do  not  die." 
They  stoned  him  till  the  stones  were  piled  above  him  on  the 

plain, 
And  those  the  labouring  limbs  displaced  they  tumbled  back 

again. 


282  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

One  watched  beside  the  dreary  mound  that  veiled  the  bat- 
tered thing, 

And  him  the  King  with  laughter  called  the  Herald  of  the 
King. 

It  was  upon  the  second  night,  the  night  of  Ramazan, 

The  watcher  leaning  earthward  heard  the  message  of  Yar 

Khan. 
From  shattered  breast  through  shrivelled  lips  broke  forth  the 

rattling  breath, 
"  Creature  of  God,  deliver  me  from  agony  of  Death." 

They  sought  the  King  among  his  girls,  and  risked  their  lives 

thereby: 
"Protector  of  the  Pitiful,  give  orders  that  he  die!" 

"Bid  him  endure  until  the  day,"  a  lagging  answer  came; 
"The  night  is  short,  and  he  can  pray  and  learn  to  bless  my 

name." 
Before  the  dawn  three  times  he  spoke,  and  on  the  day  once 

more: 
"Creature  of  God,  deliver  me,  and  bless  the  King  therefor!" 

They  shot  him  at  the  morning  prayer,  to  ease  him  of  his  pain, 
And  when  he  heard  the  matchlocks  clink,  he  blessed  the  King 
again. 

Which  thing  the  singers  made  a  song  for  all  the  world  to  sing, 
So  that  the  Outer  Seas  may  know  the  mercy  of  the  King. 

Abdhur  Rahman ,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the  story  told, 
He  has  opened  his  mouth  to  the  North  and  the  South,  they 

have  stuffed  his  mouth  with  gold. 
Ye  know  the  truth  of  his  tender  ruth — and  sweet  his  favours 

are: 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long  ?     How  long  ?—from 

Balkh  to  Kandahar. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  283 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  JEST 

1890 

ring-time  flushes  the  desert  grass, 
Our  kafilas  wind  through  the  Khyber  Pass. 
Lean  are  the  camels  but  fat  the  frails, 
Light  are  the  purses  but  heavy  the  bales, 
As  the  snowbound  trade  of  the  North  comes  down 
To  the  market-square  of  Peshawur  town. 

In  a  turquoise  twilight,  crisp  and  chill, 
A  kafila  camped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Then  blue  smoke-haze  of  the  cooking  rose, 
And  tent-peg  answered  to  hammer-nose; 
And  the  picketed  ponies,  shag  and  wild, 
Strained  at  their  ropes  as  the  feed  was  piled; 
And  the  bubbling  camels  beside  the  load 
Sprawled  for  a  furlong  adown  the  road; 
And  the  Persian  pussy-cats,  brought  for  sale, 
Spat  at  the  dogs  from  the  camel-bale; 
And  the  tribesmen  bellowed  to  hasten  the  food; 
And  the  camp-fires  twinkled  by  Fort  Jumrood; 
And  there  fled  on  the  wings  of  the  gathering  dusk 
A  savour  of  camels  and  carpets  and  musk, 
A  murmur  of  voices,  a  reek  of  smoke, 
To  tell  us  the  trade  of  the  Khyber  woke. 

The  lid  of  the  flesh-pot  chattered  high, 
The  knives  were  whetted  and — then  came  I 
To  Mahbub  Ali,  the  muleteer, 
Patching  his  bridles  and  counting  his  gear, 
Crammed  with  the  gossip  of  half  a  year. 
But  Mahbub  Ali  the  kindly  said, 
"Better  is  speech  when  the  belly  is  fed." 


284  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

So  we  plunged  the  hand  to  the  mid-wrist  deep 
In  a  cinnamon  stew  of  the  fat-tailed  sheep, 
And  he  who  never  hath  tasted  the  food, 
By  Allah!  he  knoweth  not  bad  from  good. 

We  cleansed  our  beards  of  the  mutton-grease, 
We  lay  on  the  mats  and  were  filled  with  peace, 
And  the  talk  slid  north,  and  the  talk  slid  south, 
With  the  sliding  puffs  from  the  hookah-mouth. 

Four  things  greater  than  all  things  are, — 

Women  and  Horses  and  Power  and  War. 

We  spake  of  them  all,  but  the  last  the  most. 

For  I  sought  a  word  of  a  Russian  post, 

Of  a  shifty  promise,  an  unsheathed  sword 

And  a  grey-coat  guard  on  the  Helmund  ford. 

Then  Mahbub  AH  lowered  his  eyes 

In  the  fashion  of  one  who  is  weaving  lies. 

Quoth  he:     "Of  the  Russians  who  can  say? 

"When  the  night  is  gathering  all  is  grey. 

"But  we  look  that  the  gloom  of  the  night  shall  die 

"In  the  morning  flush  of  a  blood-red  sky. 

"Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 

"To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies? 

"We  know  what  Heaven  or  Hell  may  bring, 

"But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King. 

"That  unsought  counsel  is  cursed  of  God 

"Attesteth  the  story  of  Wali  Dad. 

"His  sire  was  leaky  of  tongue  and  pen, 

"His  dam  was  a  clucking  Khuttuck  hen; 

"And  the  colt  bred  close  to  the  vice  of  each, 

"For  he  carried  the  curse  of  an  unstanched  speech. 

"Therewith  madness — so  that  he  sought 

"The  favour  of  kings  at  the  Kabul  court; 

"And  travelled,  in  hope  of  honour,  far 

"To  the  line  where  the  grey-coat  squadrons  are. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  285 

"There  have  I  journeyed  too — but  I 

"Saw  naught,  said  naught,  and — did  not  die! 

"He  hearked  to  rumour,  and  snatched  at  a  breath 

"Of  'this  one  knoweth'  and  'that  one  saith,' — 

"Legends  that  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth 

"Of  a  grey-coat  coming,  and  sack  of  the  South. 

"These  have  I  also  heard — they  pass 

"With  each  new  spring  and  the  winter  grass. 

"Hot-foot  southward,  forgotten  of  God, 

"  Back  to  the  city  ran  Wali  Dad, 

"Even  to  Kabul — in  full  durbar 

"The  King  held  talk  with  his  Chief  in  War. 

"Into  the  press  of  the  crowd  he  broke, 

"And  what  he  had  heard  of  the  coming  spoke. 

"Then  Gholam  Hyder,  the  Red  Chief,  smiled, 

"As  a  mother  might  on  a  babbling  child; 

"But  those  who  would  laugh  restrained  their  breath, 

"When  the  face  of  the  King  showed  dark  as  death. 

"Evil  it  is  in  full  durbar    • 

"To  cry  to  a  ruler  of  gathering  war! 

"Slowly  he  led  to  a  peach-tree  small, 

"That  grew  by  a  cleft  of  the  city  wall. 

"And  he  said  to  the  boy:  'They  shall  praise  thy  zeal 

'"So  long  as  the  red  spurt  follows  the  steel. 

"'And  the  Russ  is  upon  us  even  now? 

"'Great  is  thy  prudence — wait  them,  thou. 

"'Watch  from  the  tree.     Thou  art  young  and  strong. 

"'Surely  the  vigil  is  not  for  long. 

"'The  Russ  is  upon  us,  thy  clamour  ran? 

'"Surely  an  hour  shall  bring  their  van. 

"'Wait  and  watch.     When  the  host  is  near, 

"'Shout  aloud  that  my  men  may  hear.' 

"Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 
"To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies? 


286  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"A  guard  was  set  that  he  might  not  flee — 

"A  score  of  bayonets  ringed  the  tree. 

"The  peach-bloom  fell  in  showers  of  snow, 

"When  he  shook  at  his  death  as  he  looked  below. 

"  By  the  power  of  God,  who  alone  is  great, 

"Till  the  seventh  day  he  fought  with  his  fate. 

"Then  madness  took  him,  and  men  declare 

"He  mowed  in  the  branches  as  ape  and  bear, 

"And  last  as  a  sloth,  ere  his  body  failed, 

"And  he  hung  like  a  bat  in  the4 forks,  and  wailed, 

"And  sleep  the  cord  of  his  hands  untied, 

"And  he  fell,  and  was  caught  on  the  points  and  died. 

"Heart  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 
"To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies? 
"We  know  what  Heaven  or  Hell  may  bring, 
"But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King. 
"Of  the  grey-coat  coming  who  can  say? 
"When  the  night  is  gathering  all  is  grey. 
"Two  things  greater  than  all  things  are, 
"The  first  is  Love,  and  the  second  War. 
"And  since  we  know  not  how  War  may  prove, 
"Heart  of  my  heart,  let  us  talk  of  Love!" 


WITH  SCINDIA  TO  DELHI 

1890 

More  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  in  a  great  battle  fought  near  Delhi,  an  Indian 
Prince  rode  fifty  miles  after  the  day  was  lost  with  a  beggar-girl,  who  had  loved 
him  and  followed  him  in  all  his  camps,  on  his  saddle-bow.  He  lost  the  girl  when 
almost  within  sight  of  safety.  A  Mahratta  trooper  tells  the  story: — 

*"PHE  wreath  of  banquet  overnight   lay   withered  on  the 

neck, 

Our  hands  and  scarves  were  saffron-dyed  for  signal  of 
despair, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  287 

When  we  went  forth  to  Paniput  to  battle  with  the  Mlech, — 
Ere  we  came  back  from  Paniput  and  left  a  kingdom  there. 


Thrice  thirty  thousand  men  were  we  to  force  the  Jumna 

fords — 
The  hawk-winged  horse  of  Damajee,  mailed  squadrons  of 

the  Bhao, 
Stark  levies  of  the  southern  hills,  the  Deccan's  sharpest 

swords, 

And   he,  the  harlot's  traitor-son,   the  goatherd   Mulhar 
Rao! 


Thrice  thirty  thousand  men  were  we  before  the  mists  had 

cleared. 
The  low  white  mists  of  morning  heard   the  war-conch 

scream  and  bray. 

We  called  upon  Bhowani  and  we  gripped  them  by  the  beard, 
We  rolled  upon  them  like  a  flood  and  washed  their  ranks 
away. 


The  children  of  the  hills  of  Khost  before  our  lances  ran, 
We  drove  the  black  Rohillas  back  as  cattle  to  the  pen; 

'T  was  then  we  needed  Mulhar  Rao  to  end  what  we  began, 
A  thousand  men  had  saved  the  charge;  he  fled  the  field 
with  ten! 


There  was  no  room  to  clear  a  sword — no  power  to  strike  a 

blow, 
For  foot  to  foot,  ay,  breast  to  breast,  the  battle  held  us 

fast — 

Save  where  the  naked  hill-men  ran,  and  stabbing  from  below 
Brought  down  the  horse  and  rider  and  we  trampled  them 
and  passed. 


288  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

To  left  the  roar  of  musketry  rang  like  a  falling  flood  — 

To  right  the  sunshine  rippled  red  from  redder  lance  and 

blade- 

Above  the  dark  Upsaras1  flew,  beneath  us  plashed  the  blood, 
And,  bellying  black  against  the  dust,  the  Bhagwa  Jhanda 
swayed. 

I  saw  it  fall  in  smoke  and  fire,  the  Banner  of  the  Bhao; 

I  heard  a  voice  across  the  press  of  one  who  called  in  vain:  — 
"Ho!     Anand  Rao  Nimbalkhur,  ride!     G;t  aid  of  Mulhar 

Rao! 

"Go   shame    his    squadrons    into    fight  —  the    Bhao  —  the 
Bhao  is  slain!" 

Thereat,  as  when  a  sand-bar  breaks  in  clotted  spume  and 

spray, 

When  rain  of  later  autumn  sweeps  the  Jumna  water-head, 
Before  their  charge  from  flank  to  flank  our  riven  ranks  gave 

way  — 
But  of  the  waters  of  that  flood  the  Jumna  fords  ran  red. 

I  held  by  Scindia,  my  lord,  as  close  as  man  might  hold; 
A  Soobah  of  the  Deccan  asks  no  aid  to  guard  his  life; 
But  Holkar's  Horse  were  flying,  and  our  chiefest  chiefs  were 

cold, 

And  like  a  flame  among  us  leapt  the  long  lean  Northern 
knife. 


I  held  by  Scindia  —  my  lance  from  butt  to  tuft  was  dyed, 
The-  froth  of  battle  bossed  the  shield  and  roped  the  bridle- 

chain  — 

What  time  beneath  our  horses'  feet  a  maiden  rose  and  cried, 
And  clung  to  Scindia,  and  I  turned  a  sword-cut  from  the 
twain. 

'The  Choosers  of  the  Slain. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  289 

(He  set  a  spell  upon  the  maid  in  woodlands  long  ago, 

A  hunter  by  the  Tapti  banks,  she  gave  him  water  there: 

He  turned  her  heart  to  water,  and  she  followed  to  her  woe. 
What  need  had  he  of  Lalun  who  had  twenty  maids  as  fair?) 

Now  in  that  hour  strength  left  my  lord;  he  wrenched  his  mare 

aside; 
He  bound  the  girl  behind  him  and  we  slashed  and  struggled 

free. 

Across  the  reeling  wreck  of  strife  we  rode  as  shadows  ride 
From  Paniput  to  Delhi  town,  but  not  alone  were  we. 

'T  was  Lutif-Ullah  Populzai  laid  horse  upon  our  track, 
A  swine-fed  reiver  of  the  North  that  lusted  for  the  maid; 

I  might  have  barred  his  path  awhile,  but  Scindia  called  me 

back, 
And  I — O  woe  for  Scindia! — I  listened  and  obeyed. 

League  after  league  the  formless  scrub  took  shape  and  glided 

by- 
League  after  league  the  white  road  swirled  behind  the  white 

mare's  feet — 
League  after  league,  when  leagues  were  done,  we  heard  the 

Populzai, 

Where  sure  as  Time  and  swift  as  Death  the  tireless  footfall 
beat. 


Noon's  eye  beheld  that  shame  of  flight;  the  shadows  fell,  we 

fled 
Where  steadfast  as  the  wheeling  kite  he  followed  in  our 

train; 
The  black  wolf  warred  where  we  had  warred,  the  jackal 

mocked  our  dead, 

And  terror  born  of  twilight-tide  made  mad  the  labouring 
brain. 


29o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I  gasped: — "A  kingdom  waits  my  lord;  her  love  is  but  her 

own. 
"A  day  shall  mar,  a  day  shall  cure,  for  her — but  what  for 

thee? 
"Cut  loose  the  girl:  he  follows  fast.     Cut  loose  and  ride 

alone!" 

Then    Scindia    'twixt   his    blistered    lips: — "My   Queens' 
Queen  shall  she  be! 


"Of  all  who  ate  my  bread  last  night  'twas  she  alone  that  came 
"To  seek  her  love  between  the  spears  and  find  her  crown 

therein! 
"One  shame  is  mine  to-day.     What  need  the  weight  of  double 

shame  ? 
"  If  once  we  reach  the  Delhi  gate,  though  all  be  lost,  I  win ! " 


We  rode — the  white  mare  failed — her  trot  a  staggering 
stumble  grew, — 

The  cooking-smoke  of  even  rose  and  weltered  and  hung  low; 
And  still  we  heard  the  Populzai  and  still  we  strained  anew, 

And  Delhi  town  was  very  near,  but  nearer  was  the  foe. 


Yea,  Delhi  town  was  very  near  when  Lalun  whispered: — 

"Slay! 
"Lord  of  my  life,  the  mare  sinks  fast — stab  deep  and  let 

me  die!" 
But  Scindia  would  not,  and  the  maid  tore  free  and  flung 

away, 
And  turning  as  she  fell  we  heard  the  clattering  Populzai. 


Then  Scindia  checked  the  gasping  mare  that  rocked  and 

groaned  for  breath, 

And  wheeled  to  charge  and  plunged  the  knife  a  hands- 
breadth  in  her  side — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  291 

The  hunter  and  the  hunted  know  how  that  last  pause  is 

death — 

The  blood  had  chilled  about  her  heart,  she  reared  and  fell 
and  died. 

Our  Gods  were  kind.     Before  he  heard  the  maiden's  piteous 
scream 

A  log  upon  the  Delhi  road,  beneath  the  mare  he  lay — 
Lost  mistress  and  lost  battle  passed  before  him  like  a  dream; 

The  darkness  closed  about  his  eyes.     I  bore  my  King  away ! 


THE  DOVE  OF  DACCA 

1892 

HPHE  freed  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower — 

Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings — 
And  the  thorns  have  covered  the  city  of  Gaur. 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove! 
Little  white  traitor,  with  woe  on  thy  wings! 

The  Rajah  of  Dacca  rode  under  the  wall; 

He  set  in  his  bosom  a  dove  of  flight — 
"If  she  return,  be  sure  that  I  fall." 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove! 
Pressed  to  his  heart  in  the  thick  of  the  fight. 

"Fire  the  palace,  the  fort,  and  the  keep — 
Leave  to  the  foeman  no  spoil  at  all. 

In  the  flame  of  the  palace  lie  down  and  sleep 
If  the  dove — if  the  dove — if  the  homing  dove 

Come  and  alone  to  the  palace /vail." 


292  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  Kings  of  the  North  they  were  scattered  abroad- 
The  Rajah  of  Dacca  he  slew  them  all. 

Hot  from  slaughter  he  stooped  at  the  ford, 

And  the  dove — the  dove — oh,  the  homing  dove! 

She  thought  of  her  cote  on  the  palace-wall. 


She  opened  her  wings  and  she  flew  away — 
Fluttered  away  beyond  recall; 

She  came  to  the  palace  at  break  of  day. 
Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove, 

Flying  so  fast  for  a  kingdom's  fall! 


The  Queens  of  Dacca  they  slept  in  flame — 

Slept  in  the  flame  of  the  palace  old — 
To  save  their  honour  from  Moslem  shame. 

And  the  dove — the  dove — oh,  the  homing  dove, 
She  cooed  to  her  young  where  the  smoke-cloud  rolled! 


The  Rajah  of  Dacca  rode  far  and  fleet, 
Followed  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  fly, 

He  came  and  the  palace  was  black  at  his  feet; 
And  the  dove — the  dove — the  homing  dove, 

Circled  alone  in  the  stainless  sky. 


So  the  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower — 
Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings; 

So  the  thorns  covered  the  city  of  Gaur, 

And  Dacca  was  lost  for  a  white  dove's  wings. 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove, 

Dacca  is  lost  from  the  Roll  of  the  Kings! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  293 

THE  BALLAD  OF  BOH  DA  THONE 

1888 

(Burma  War,  1883-85) 

This  is  the  ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone, 

Erst  a  Pretender  to  Theebaw's  throne, 

Who  harried  the  District  of  Alalone: 

How  he  met  with  his  fate  and  the  V.  P.  P.1 

At  the  hand  of  Hadendra  Mukerji, 

Senior  Gomashta,  G.  B.  TV 

gOH  DA  THONE  was  a  warrior  bold: 

His  sword  and  his  rifle  were  bossed  with  gold, 

And  the  Peacock  Banner  his  henchmen  bore 
Was  stiff  with  bullion,  but  stiffer  with  gore. 

He  shot  at  the  strong  and  he  slashed  at  the  weak 
From  the  Salween  scrub  to  the  Chindwin  teak: 

He  crucified  noble,  he  scarified  mean, 
He  filled  old  ladies  with  kerosene: 

While  over  the  water  the  papers  cried, 
"The  patriot  fights  for  his  countryside!" 

But  little  they  cared  for  the  Native  Press, 
The  worn  white  soldiers  in  khaki  dress, 

Who  tramped  through  the  jungle  and  camped  in  the  byre, 
Who  died  in  the  swamp  and  were  tombed  in  the  mire, 

'Value  Payable  Post  =  collect  on  delivery. 
'Head  Clerk,  Government  Bullock  Train. 


294  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Who  gave  up  their  lives,  at  the  Queen's  Command, 
For  the  Pride  of  their  Race  and  the  Peace  of  the  Land. 

Now,  first  of  the  foemen  of  Boh  Da  Thone 
Was  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  Black  Tyrone, 

And  his  was  a  Company,  seventy  strong, 
Who  hustled  that  dissolute  Chief  along. 

There  were  lads  from  Galway  and  Louth  and  Meath 
Who  went  to  their  death  with  a  joke  in  their  teeth, 

And  worshipped  with  fluency,  fervour,  and  zeal 
The  mud  on  the  boot-heels  of  "Crook"  O'Neil. 

But  ever  a  blight  on  their  labours  lay, 
And  ever  their  quarry  would  vanish  away, 

Till  the  sun-dried  boys  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Took  a  brotherly  interest  in  Boh  Da  Thone, 

And,  sooth,  if  pursuit  in  possession  ends, 
The  Boh  and  his  trackers  were  best  of  friends. 


The  word  of  a  scout — a  march  by  night — 
A  rush  through  the  mist — a  scattering  fight — 

A  volley  from  cover — a  corpse  in  the  clearing — 
A  glimpse  of  a  loin-cloth  and  heavy  jade  earring — 

The  flare  of  a  village — the  tally  of  slain — 

And     .     .     .     the  Boh  was  abroad  on  the  raid  again! 

They  cursed  their  luck,  as  the  Irish  will, 
They  gave  him  credit  for  cunning  and  skill, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  295 

They  buried  their  dead,  they  bolted  their  beef, 
And  started  anew  on  the  track  of  the  thief, 

Till,  in  place  of  the  "  Kalends  of  Greece,"  men  said, 
"When  Crook  and  his  darlings  come  back  with  the  head." 

They  had  hunted  the  Boh  from  the  hills  to  the  plain — 
He  doubled  and  broke  for  the  hills  again: 

They  had  crippled  his  power  for  rapine  and  raid, 
They  had  routed  him  out  of  his  pet  stockade, 

And  at  last,  they  came,  when  the  Daystar  tired, 
To  a  camp  deserted — a  village  fired. 

A  black  cross  blistered  the  Morning-gold, 
But  the  body  upon  it  was  stark  and  cold. 

The  wind  of  the  dawn  went  merrily  past, 
The  high  grass  bowed  her  plumes  to  the  blast. 

And  out  of  the  grass,  on  a  sudden,  broke 
A  spirtle  of  fire,  a  whorl  of  smoke — 

And  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Was  blessed  with  a  slug  in  the  ulnar-bone — 
The  gift  of  his  enemy  Boh  Da  Thone. 

(Now  a  slug  that  is  hammered  from  telegraph-wire 
Is  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  and  a  rankling  fire.) 


The  shot-wound  festered — as  shot-wounds  may 
In  a  steaming  barrack  at  Mandalay. 

The  left  arm  throbbed,  and  the  Captain  swore, 
"I'd  like  to  be  after  the  Boh  once  more!" 


296  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  fever  held  him — the  Captain  said, 
"I'd  give  a  hundred  to  look  at  his  head!" 

The  Hospital  punkahs  creaked  and  whirred, 
But  Babu  Harendra  (Gomashta)  heard. 

He  thought  of  the  cane-brake,  green  and  dank, 
That  girdled  his  home  by  the  Dacca  tank. 

He  thought  of  his  wife  and  his  High  School  son, 
He  thought — but  abandoned  the  thought — of  a  gun 

His  sleep  was  broken  by  visions  dread 
Of  a  shining  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 

He  kept  his  counsel  and  went  his  way, 
And  swindled  the  cartmen  of  half  their  pay. 


And  the  months  went  on,  as  the  worst  must  do, 
And  the  Boh  returned  to  the  raid  anew. 

But  the  Captain  had  quitted  the  long-drawn  strife, 
And  in  far  Simoorie  had  taken  a  wife; 

And  she  was  a  damsel  of  delicate  mould, 
With  hair  like  the  sunshine  and  heart  of  gold, 

And  little  she  knew  the  arms  that  embraced 
Had  cloven  a  man  from  the  brow  to  the  waist: 

And  little  she  knew  that  the  loving  lips 
Had  ordered  a  quivering  life's  eclipse, 

Or  the  eye  that  lit  at  her  lightest  breath 
Had  glared  unawed  in  the  Gates  of  Death. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  297 

(For  these  be  matters  a  man  would  hide, 
As  a  general  rule,  from  an  innocent  Bride.) 

And  little  the  Captain  thought  of  the  past, 
And,  of  all  men,  Babu  Harendra  last. 


But  slow,  in  the  sludge  of  the  Kathun  road, 
The  Government  Bullock  Train  toted  its  load. 

Speckless  and  spotless  and  shining  with  ghee,1 
In  the  rearmost  cart  sat  the  Babu-jee; 

And  ever  a  phantom  before  him  fled 
Of  a  scowling  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 

Then  the  lead-cart  stuck,  though  the  coolies  slaved, 
And  the  cartmen  flogged  and  the  escort  raved, 

And  out  of  the  jungle,  with  yells  and  squeals, 
Pranced  Boh  Da  Thone,  and  his  gang  at  his  heels! 

Then  belching  blunderbuss  answered  back 
The  Snider's  snarl  and  the  carbine's  crack, 

And  the  blithe  revolver  began  to  sing 

To  the  blade  that  twanged  on  the  locking-ring, 

And  the  brown  flesh  blued  where  the  bayonet  kissed, 
As  the  steel  shot  back  with  a  wrench  and  a  twist, 

And  the  great  white  bullocks  with  onyx  eyes 
Watched  the  souls  of  the  dead  arise, 

And  over  the  smoke  of  the  fusillade 
The  Peacock  Banner  staggered  and  swayed. 
'Butter. 


298  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  Babu  shook  at  the  horrible  sight, 
And  girded  his  ponderous  loins  for  flight, 

But  Fate  had  ordained  that  the  Boh  should  start 
On  a  lone-hand  raid  of  the  rearmost  cart, 

And  out  of  that  cart,  with  a  bellow  of  woe, 
The  Babu  fell— flat  on  the  top  of  the  Boh! 

For  years  had  Harendra  served  the  State, 

To  the  growth  of  his  purse  and  the  girth  of  his  $et.1 

There  were  twenty  stone,  as  the  tally-man  knows, 
On  the  broad  of  the  chest  of  this  best  of  Bohs. 

And  twenty  stone  from  a  height  discharged 
Are  bad  for  a  Boh  with  a  spleen  enlarged. 

Oh,  short  was  the  struggle — severe  was  the  shock — 
He  dropped  like  a  bullock — he  lay  like  a  block; 

And  the  Babu  above  him,  convulsed  with  fear, 
Heard  the  labouring  life-breath  hissed  out  in  his  ear. 

And  thus  in  a  fashion  undignified 

The  princely  pest  of  the  Chindwin  died. 


Turn  now  to  Simoorie,  where,  all  at  his  ease, 
The  Captain  is  petting  the  Bride  on  his  knees, 

Where  the  whit  of  the  bullet,  the  wounded  man's  scream 
Are  mixed  as  the  mist  of  some  devilish  dream — 

Forgotten,  forgotten  the  sweat  of  the  shambles 
Where  the  hill-daisy  blooms  and  the  grey  monkey  gambols, 
'Stomach. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  299 

From  the  sword-belt  set  free  and  released  from  the  steel, 
The  Peace  of  the  Lord  is  on  Captain  O'Neill 

Up  the  hill  to  Simoorie — most  patient  of  drudges — 
The  bags  on  his  shoulder,  the  mail-runner  trudges. 

"  For  Captain  O'Neil  Sahib.     One  hundred  and  ten 
"Rupees  to  collect  on  delivery." 

Then 

(Their   breakfast  was   stopped   while    the   screw-jack    and 

hammer 
Tore  waxcloth,  split  teak-wood,  and  chipped  out  the  dam- 

mer1;) 

Open-eyed,  open-mouthed,  on  the  napery's  snow, 
With  a  crash  and  a  thud,  rolled — the  Head  of  the  Boh! 

And  gummed  to  the  scalp  was  a  letter  which  ran: — 
"!N  FIELDING  FORCE  SERVICE. 
"Encampment, 

.     "lothjan. 

"Dear  Sir, — I  have  honour  to  send,  as  you  said, 
"For  final  approval  (see  under)  Boh's  Head; 

"Was  took  by  myself  in  most  bloody  affair. 
"  By  High  Education  brought  pressure  to  bear. 

"Now  violate  Liberty,  time  being  bad, 

"To  mail  V.  P.  P.  (rupees  hundred)  Please  add 

"  Whatever  Your  Honour  can  pass.     Price  of  Blood 
"Much  cheap  at  one  hundred,  and  children  want  food; 
'Native  sealing-wax. 


300  RUDXAKD  KIPLING'S    VERSE 

"So  trusting  Your  Honour  will  somewhat  retain 
"True  love  and  affection  for  Govt.  Bullock  Train, 

"And  show  awful  kindness  to  satisfy  me, 

"lam, 

"Graceful  Master, 
"Your 

"H.  MUKERJI." 


As  the  rabbit  is  drawn  to  the  rattlesnake's  power, 
As  the  smoker's  eye  fills  at  the  opium  hour, 

As  a  horse  reaches  up  to  the  manger  above, 

As  the  waiting  ear  yearns  for  the  whisper  of  love, 

From  the  arms  of  the  Bride,  iron-visaged  and  slow, 
The  Captain  bent  down  to  the  Head  of  the  Boh. 

And  e'en  as  he  looked  on  the  Thing  where  It  lay 
'Twixt  the  winking  new  spoons  and  the  napkins'  array, 

The  freed  mind  fled  back  to  the  long-ago  days — 
The  hand-to-hand  scuffle — the  smoke  and  the  blaze — 

The  forced  march  at  night  and  the  quick  rush  at  dawn — 
The  banjo  at  twilight,  the  burial  ere  morn — 

The  stench  of  the  marshes — the  raw,  piercing  smell 
When  the  overhand  stabbing-cut  silenced  the  yell — 

The  oaths  of  his  Irish  that  surged  when  they  stood 
Where  the  black  crosses  hung  o'er  the  Kuttamow  flood. 

As  a  derelict  ship  drifts  away  with  the  tide 

The  Captain  went  out  on  the  Past  from  his  Bride, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918          301 

Back,  back,  through  the  springs  to  the  chill  of  the  year, 
When  he  hunted  the  Boh  from  Maloon  to  Tsaleer. 

As  the  shape  of  a  corpse  dimmers  up  through  deep  water, 
In  his  eye  lit  the  passionless  passion  of  slaughter, 

And  men  who  had  fought  with  O'Neil  for  the  life 
Had  gazed  on  his  face  with  less  dread  than  his  wife. 

For  she  who  had  held  him  so  long  could  not  hold  him — 
Though  a  four-month  Eternity  should  have  controlled  him! — 

But  watched  the  twin  Terror — the  head  turned  to  head — 
The  scowling,  scarred  Black,  and  the  flushed  savage  Red — 

The  spirit  that  changed  from  her  knowing  and  flew  to 
Some  grim  hidden  Past  she  had  never  a  clue  to. 

But  It  knew  as  It  grinned,  for  he  touched  it  unfearing, 
And  muttered  aloud,  "So  you  kept  that  jade  earring!" 

Then  nodded,  and  kindly,  as  friend  nods  to  friend, 
"Old  man,  you  fought  well,  but  you  lost  in  the  end." 


The  visions  departed,  and  Shame  followed  Passion:  — 
"He  took  what  I  said  in  this  horrible  fashion? 

"/'//  write  to  Harendra!"     With  language  unsainted 

The  Captain  came  back  to  the  Bride  .  .   .  who  had  fainted. 


And  this  is  a  fiction  ?     No.     Go  to  Simoorie 

And  look  at  their  baby,  a  twelve-month  old  Houri, 


302  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

A  pert  little,  Irish-eyed  Kathleen  Mavournin — 
She's  always  about  on  the  Mall  of  a  mornin' — 

And  you'll  see,  if  her  right  shoulder-strap  is  displaced, 
This:  Gules  upon  argent,  a  Boh's  Head,  erased  I 


THE  SACRIFICE  OF  ER-HEB 


J£R-HEB  beyond  the  Hills  of  Ao-Safai 

Bears  witness  to  the  truth,  and  Ao-Safai 
Hath  told  the  men  of  Gorukh.      Thence  the  tale 
Comes  westward  o'er  the  peaks  to  India. 

The  story  of  Bisesa,  Armod's  child, — 
A  maiden  plighted  to  the  Chief  in  War, 
The  Man  of  Sixty  Spears,  who  held  the  Pass 
That  leads  to  Thibet,  but  to-day  is  gone 
To  seek  his  comfort  of  the  God  called  Budh 
The  Silent — showing  how  the  Sickness  ceased 
Because  of  her  who  died  to  save  the  tribe. 

Taman  is  One  and  greater  than  us  all, 
Taman  is  One  and  greater  than  all  Gods: 
Taman  is  Two  in  One  and  rides  the  sky, 
Curved  like  a  stallion's  croup,  from  dusk  to  dawn, 
And  drums  upon  it  with  his  heels,  by  which 
Is  bred  the  neighing  thunder  in  the  hills. 

This  is  Taman,  the  God  of  all  Er-Heb, 

Who  was  before  all  Gods,  and  made  all  Gods, 

And  presently  will  break  the  Gods  he  made, 

And  step  upon  the  Earth  to  govern  men 

Who  give  him  milk-dry  ewes  and  cheat  his  Priests, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  303 

Or  leave  his  shrine  unlighted — as  Er-Heb 
Left  it  unlighted  and  forgot  Taman, 
When  all  the  Valley  followed  after  Kysh 
And  Yabosh,  little  Gods  but  very  wise, 
And  from  the  sky  Taman  beheld  their  sin. 

He  sent  the  Sickness  out  upon  the  hills 

The  Red  Horse  Sickness  with  the  iron  hooves, 

To  turn  the  Valley  to  Taman  again. 

And  the  Red  Horse  snuffed  thrice  into  the  wind, 

The  naked  wind  that  had  no  fear  of  him; 

And  the  Red  Horse  stamped  thrice  upon  the  snow, 

The  naked  snows  that  had  no  fear  of  him; 

And  the  Red  Horse  went  out  across  the  rocks, 

The  ringing  rocks  that  had  no  fear  of  him; 

And  downward,  where  the  lean  birch  meets  the  snow, 

And  downward,  where  the  grey  pine  meets  the  birch, 

And  downward,  where  the  dwarf  oak  meets  the  pine, 

Till  at  his  feet  our  cup-like  pastures  lay. 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 

Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  a  dead  man's  face, 

And  weltered  in  the  valley,  bluish-white 

Like  water  very  silent — spread  abroad, 

Like  water  very  silent,  from  the  Shrine 

Unlighted  of  Taman  to  where  the  stream 

Is  dammed  to  fill  our  cattle-troughs — sent  up 

White  waves  that  rocked  and  heaved  and  stilled  themselves, 

Till  all  the  Valley  glittered  like  a  marsh, 

Beneath  the  moonlight,  filled  with  sluggish  mist 

Knee-deep,  so  that  men  waded  as  they  walked. 

That  night,  the  Red  Horse  grazed  above  the  Dam, 
Beyond  the  cattle-troughs.     Men  heard  him  feed, 
And  those  that  heard  him  sickened  where  they  lay. 


304  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Thus  came  the  sickness  to  Er-Heb,  and  slew 
Ten  men,  strong  men,  and  of  the  women  four; 
And  the  Red  Horse  went  hillward  with  the  dawn, 
But  near  the  cattle- troughs  his  hoof-print  lay. 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 

Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  the  dead,  but  rose 

A  little  higher,  to  a  young  girl's  height; 

Till  all  the  valley  glittered  like  a  lake, 

Beneath  the  moonlight,  filled  with  sluggish  mist. 

That  night,  the  Red  Horse  grazed  beyond  the  Dam 

A  stone's-throw  from  the  troughs.     Men  heard  him  feed, 

And  those  that  heard  him  sickened  where  they  lay. 

Thus  came  the  sickness  to  Er-Heb,  and  slew 

Of  men  a  score,  and  of  the  women  eight, 

And  of  the  children  two. 

Because  the  road 

To  Gorukh  was  a  road  of  enemies, 
And  Ao-Safai  was  blocked  with  early  snows, 
We  could  not  flee  from  out  the  Valley.     Death 
Smote  at  us  in  a  slaughter-pen,  and  Kysh 
Was  mute  as  Yabosh,  though  the  goats  were  slain; 
And  the  Red  Horse  grazed  nightly  by  the  stream, 
And  later,  outward,  towards  the  Unlighted  Shrine, 
And  those  that  heard  him  sickened  where  they  lay. 

Then  said  Bisesa  to  the  Priests  at  dusk. 

When  the  white  mist  rose  up  breast-high,  and  choked 

The  voices  in  the  houses  of  the  dead: — 

"Yabosh  and  Kysh  avail  not.     If  the  Horse 

"Reach  the  Unlighted  Shrine  we  surely  die. 

"Ye  have  forgotten  of  all  Gods  the  chief, 

"Taman!"     Here  rolled  the  thunder  through  the  Hill. 

And  Yabosh  shook  upon  his  pedestal. 

"Ye  have  forgotten  of  all  Gods  the  chief 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  305 

"Too  long."     And  all  were  dumb  save  one,  who  cried 
On  Yabosh  with  the  Sapphire  'twixt  His  knees, 
But  found  no  answer  in  the  smoky  roof, 
And,  being  smitten  of  the  sickness,  died 
Before  the  altar  of  the  Sapphire  Shrine. 


Then  said  Bisesa: — "I  am  near  to  Death, 

"And  have  the  Wisdom  of  the  Grave  for  gift 

"To  bear  me  on  the  path  my  feet  must  tread. 

"If  there  be  wealth  on  earth,  then  I  am  rich, 

"For  Armod  is  the  first  of  all  Er-Heb; 

"If  there  be  beauty  on  the  earth," — her  eyes 

Dropped  for  a  moment  to  the  temple  floor, — 

"Ye  know  that  I  am  fair.     If  there  be  Love, 

"Ye  know  that  love  is  mine."     The  Chief  in  War, 

The  Man  of  Sixty  Spears,  broke  from  the  press, 

And  would  have  clasped  her,  but  the  Priests  withstood, 

Saying: — "She  has  a  message  from  Taman." 

Then  said  Bisesa: — "By  my  wealth  and  love 

"And  beauty,  I  am  chosen  of  the  God 

"Taman."     Here  rolled  the  thunder  through  the  Hills 

And  Kvsh  fell  forward  on  the  Mound  of  Skulls. 


In  darkness,  and  before  our  Priests,  the  maid 

Between  the  altars  cast  her  bracelets  down, 

Therewith  the  heavy  earrings  Armod  made, 

When  he  was  young,  out  of  the  water-gold 

Of  Gorukh — threw  the  breast-plate  thick  with  jade 

Upon  the  turquoise  anklets — put  aside 

The  bands  of  silver  on  her  brow  and  neck; 

And  as  the  trinkets  tinkled  on  the  stones, 

The  thunder  of  Taman  lowed  like  a  bull. 


3o6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  said  Bisesa,  stretching  out  her  hands, 
As  one  in  darkness  fearing  Devils: — "Help! 
"O  Priests,  I  am  a  woman  very  weak. 
"And  who  am  I  to  know  the  will  of  Gods? 
"Taman  hath  called  me — whither  shall  I  go?" 
The  Chief  in  War,  the  Man  of  Sixty  Spears, 
Howled  in  his  torment,  fettered  by  the  Priests, 
But  dared  not  come  to  her  to  drag  her  forth, 
And  dared  not  lift  his  spear  against  the  Priests. 
Then  all  men  wept. 

There  was  a  Priest  of  Kysh 
Bent  with  a  hundred  winters,  hairless,  blind, 
And  taloned  as  the  great  Snow-Eagle  is. 
His  seat  was  nearest  to  the  altar-fires, 
And  he  was  counted  dumb  among  the  Priests. 
But,  whether  Kysh  decreed,  or  from  Taman 
The  impotent  tongue  found  utterance  we  know 
As  little  as  the  bats  beneath  the  eaves. 
He  cried  so  that  they  heard  who  stood  without: — 
"To  the  Unlighted  Shrine!"  and  crept  aside 
Into  the  shadow  of  his  fallen  God 
And  whimpered,  and  Bisesa  went  her  way. 


That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 

Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  the  dead,  and  rose 

Above  the  roofs,  and  by  the  Unlighted  Shrine 

Lay  as  the  slimy  water  of  the  troughs 

When  murrain  thins  the  cattle  of  Er-Heb: 

And  through  the  mist  men  heard  the  Red  Horse  feed. 


In  Armod's  house  they  burned  Bisesa's  dower, 
And  killed  her  black  bull  Tor,  and  broke  her  wheel, 
And  loosed  her  hair,  as  for  the  marriage-feast, 
With  cries  more  loud  than  mourning  for  the  dead. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  307 

Across  the  fields,  from  Armod's  dwelling-place, 

We  heard  Bisesa  weeping  where  she  passed 

To  seek  the  Unlighted  Shrine;  the  Red  Horse  neighed 

And  followed  her,  and  on  the  river-mint 

His  hooves  struck  dead  and  heavy  in  our  ears. 


Out  of  the  mists  of  evening,  as  the  star 

Of  Ao-Safai  climbs  through  the  black  snow-blurs 

To  show  the  Pass  is  clear,  Bisesa  stepped 

Upon  the  great  grey  slope  of  mortised  stone, 

The  Causeway  of  Taman.     The  Red  Horse  neighed 

Behind  her  to  the  Unlighted  Shrine — then  fled 

North  to  the  Mountain  where  his  Stable  lies. 


They  know  who  dared  the  anger  of  Taman, 
And  watched  that  night  above  the  clinging  mists, 
Far  up  the  hill,  Bisesa's  passing  in. 

She  set  her  hand  upon  the  carven  door, 
Fouled  by  a  myriad  bats,  and  black  with  time, 
Whereon  is  graved  the  Glory  of  Taman 
In  letters  older  than  the  Ao-Safai; 
And  twice  she  turned  aside  and  twice  she  wept, 
Cast  down  upon  the  threshold,  clamouring 
For  him  she  loved — the  Man  of  Sixty  Spears, 
And  for  her  father, — and  the  black  bull  Tor, 
Hers  and  her  pride.     Yea,  twice  she  turned  away 
Before  the  awful  darkness  of  the  door, 
And  the  great  horror  of  the  Wall  of  Man 
Where  Man  is  made  the  plaything  of  Taman, 
An  Eyeless  Face  that  waits  above  and  laughs. 

But  the  third  time  she  cried  and  put  her  palms 
Against  the  hewn  stone  leaves,  and  prayed  Taman 
To  spare  Er-Heb  and  take  her  life  for  price. 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  know  who  watched,  the  doors  were  rent  apart 
And  closed  upon  Bisesa,  and  the  rain 
Broke  like  a  flood  across  the  Valley,  washed 
The  mist  away;  but  louder  than  the  rain 
The  thunder  of  Taman  filled  men  with  fear. 


Some  say  that  from  the  Unlighted  Shrine  she  cried 

For  succour,  very  pitifully,  thrice, 

And  others  that  she  sang  and  had  no  fear. 

And  some  that  there  was  neither  song  nor  cry, 

But  only  thunder  and  the  lashing  rain. 


Howbeit,  in  the  morning  men  rose  up, 
Perplexed  with  horror,  crowding  to  the  Shrine. 
And  when  Er-Heb  was  gathered  at  the  doors 
The  Priests  made  lamentation  and  passed  in 
To  a  strange  Temple  and  a  God  they  feared 
But  knew  not. 


From  the  crevices  the  grass 
Had  thrust  the  altar-slabs  apart,  the  walls 
Were  grey  with  stains  unclean,  the  roof-beams  swelled 
With  many-coloured  growth  of  rottenness, 
And  lichen  veiled  the  Image  of  Taman 
In  leprosy.     The  Basin  of  the  Blood 
Above  the  altar  held  the  morning  sun: 
A  winking  ruby  on  its  heart.     Below, 
Face  hid  in  hands,  the  maid  Bisesa  lay. 


Er-Heb  beyond  the  Hills  of  Ao-Safai 
Bears  witness  to  the  truth,  and  Ao-Safai 
Hath  told  the  men  of  Gorukh.     Thence  the  tale 
Comes  westward  o'er  the  peaks  to  India. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  309 

THE  LAMENT  OF  THE  BORDER  CATTLE 
THIEF 


/"\  WOE  is  me  for  the  merry  life 
^^     I  led  beyond  the  Bar, 
And  a  treble  woe  for  my  winsome  wife 
That  weeps  at  Shalimar. 

They  have  taken  away  my  long  jezail  1i 

My  shield  and  sabre  fine, 
And  heaved  me  into  the  Central  Jail 

For  lifting  of  the  kine. 

The  steer  may  low  within  the  byre, 
The  Jat  may  tend  his  grain, 

But  there'll  be  neither  loot  nor  fire 
Till  I  come  back  again. 

And  God  have  mercy  on  the  Jat 

When  once  my  fetters  fall, 
And  Heaven  defend  the  farmer's  hut 

When  I  am  loosed  from  thrall. 

It's  woe  to  bend  the  stubborn  back 
Above  the  grinching  quern, 

It's  woe  to  hear  the  leg-bar  clack 
And  jingle  when  I  turn! 

But  for  the  sorrow  and  the  shame, 
The  brand  on  me  and  mine, 

I'll  pay  you  back  in  leaping  flame 
And  loss  of  the  butchered  kine. 

1  Native  gun. 


310  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  every  cow  I  spared  before — 

In  charity  set  free — 
If  I  may  reach  my  hold  once  more 

I'll  reive  an  honest  three. 


For  every  time  I  raised  the  lowe 
That  scared  the  dusty  plain, 

By  sword  and  cord,  by  torch  and  tow 
I'll  light  the  land  with  twain! 


Ride  hard,  ride  hard  to  Abazai, 

Young  Sahib  with  the  yellow  hair- 
Lie  close,  lie  close  as  Khuttucks1  lie, 
Fat  herds  below  Bonair! 


The  one  I'll  shoot  at  twilight- tide, 
At  dawn  I'll  drive  the  other; 

The  black  shall  mourn  for  hoof  and  hide, 
The  white  man  for  his  brother. 


'Tis  war,  red  war,  I'll  give  you  then, 

War  till  my  sinews  fail; 
For  the  wrong  you  have  done  to  a  chief  of  men, 

And  a  thief  of  the  Zukka  Kheyl. 


And  if  I  fall  to  your  hand  afresh 

I  give  you  leave  for  the  sin, 
That  you  cram  my  throat  with  the  foul  pig's  flesh, 

And  swing  me  in  the  skin! 

1A  tribe  on  the  Indian  frontier. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  311 

THE  FEET  OF  THE  YOUNG  MEN 

i  897 

the  Four-way  Lodge  is  opened,  now  the  Hunting 
Winds  are  loose — 
Now  the  Smokes  of  Spring  go  up  to  clear  the  brain; 
Now  the  Young  Men's  hearts  are  troubled  for  the  whisper  of 

the  Trues, 

Now  the  Red  Gods  make  their  medicine  again ! 
Who  hath  seen  the  beaver  busied?     Who  hath  watched  the 

black-tail  mating? 

Who  hath  lain  alone  to  hear  the  wild-goose  cry? 
Who  hath  worked  the  chosen  water  where  the  ouananiche  is 

waiting, 
Or  the  sea-trout's  jumping-crazy  for  the  fly? 

He  must  go — go — go  away  from  here  ! 

On  the  other  side  the  world  he's  overdue. 
1 'Send  your  road  is  clear  before  you  when  the  old  Spring- 
fret  comes  o'er  you, 

And  the  Red  Gods  call  for  you  ! 

So  for  one  the  wet  sail  arching  through  the  rainbow  round 

the  bow, 

And  for  one  the  creak  of  snow-shoes  on  the  crust; 
And  for  one  the  lakeside  lilies  where  the  bull-moose  waits  the 

cow, 

And  for  one  the  mule-train  coughing  in  the  dust. 
Who  hath  smelt  wood-smoke  at  twilight?     Who  hath  heard 

the  birch-log  burning? 

Who  is  quick  to  read  the  noises  of  the  night? 
Let  him  follow  with  the  others,  for  the  Young  Men's  feet  are 

turning 
To  the  camps  of  proved  desire  and  known  delight! 

Let  him  go — go,  etc. 


312  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I 

Do  you  know  the  blackened  timber — do  you  know  that  racing 

stream 

With  the  raw,  right-angled  log-jam  at  the  end; 
And  the  bar  of  sun-warmed  shingle  where  a  man  may  bask 

and  dream 

To  the  click  of  shod  canoe-poles  round  the  bend  ? 
It  is  there  that  we  are  going  with  our  rods  and  reels  and  traces, 

To  a  silent,  smoky  Indian  that  we  know — 
To  a  couch  of  new-pulled  hemlock,  with  the  starlight  on  our 

faces, 
For  the  Red  Gods  call  us  out  and  we  must  go! 

They  must  go — go,  etc. 

II 

Do  you  know  the  shallow  Baltic  where  the  seas  are  steep  and 

short, 

Where  the  bluff,  lee-boarded  fishing-luggers  ride? 
Do  you  know  the  joy  of  threshing  leagues  to  leeward  of  your 

port 

On  a  coast  you've  lost  the  chart  of  overside? 
It  is  there  that  I  am  going,  with  an  extra  hand  to  bale  her — 

Just  one  able  'long-shore  loafer  that  I  know. 
He  can  take  his  chance  of  drowning,  while  I  sail  and  sail  and 

sail  her, 
For  the  Red  Gods  call  me  out  and  I  must  go! 

He  must  go — go,  etc. 

Ill 

Do  you  know  the  pile-built  village  where  the  sago-dealers 

trade — 

Do  you  know  the  reek  of  fish  and  wet  bamboo? 
Do  you  know  the  steaming  stillness  of  the  orchid-scented 

glade 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  313 

When  the  blazoned,  bird-winged  butterflies  flap  through? 
It  is  there  that  I  am  going  with  my  camphor,  net,  and  boxes, 

To  a  gentle,  yellow  pirate  that  I  know — 
To  my  little  wailing  lemurs,  to  my  palms  and  flying-foxes, 

For  the  Red  Gods  call  me  out  and  I  must  go! 

He  must  go — go,  etc. 

IV 

Do  you  know  the  world's  white  roof-tree — do  you  know  that 

windy  rift 

Where  the  baffling  mountain-eddies  chop  and  change? 
Do  you  know  the  long  day's  patience,  belly-down  on  frozen 

drift, 

While  the  head  of  heads  is  feeding  out  of  range? 
It  is  there  that  I  am  going,  where  the  boulders  and  the  snow 

,    lie' 
With  a  trusty,  nimble  tracker  that  I  know. 

I  have  sworn  an  oath,  to  keep  it  on  the  Horns  of  Ovis  Poli, 
And  the  Red  Gods  call  me  out  and  I  must  go! 

He  must  go — go,  etc. 

Now  the  Four-way  Lodge  is  opened — now  the  Smokes  of 

Council  rise — 

Pleasant  smokes,  ere  yet  'twixt  trail  and  trail  they  choose — 
Now  the  girths  and  ropes  are  tested:  now  they  pack  their  last 

supplies: 

Now  our  Young  Men  go  to  dance  before  the  Trues! 
Who  shall  meet  them  at  those  altars — who  shall  light  them 

to  that  shrine  ? 

Velvet- footed,  who  shall  guide  them  to  their  goal? 
Unto  each  the  voice  and  vision:  unto  each  his  spoor  and 

sign — 

Lonely  mountain  in  the  Northland,  misty  sweat-bath  'neath 
the  Line — 


3i4  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  to  each  a  man  that  knows  his  naked  soul! 
White  or  yellow,  black  or  copper,  he  is  waiting,  as  a  lover, 

Smoke  of  funnel,  dust  of  hooves,  or  beat  of  train — 
Where  the  high  grass  hides  the  horseman  or  the  glaring  flats 

discover — 
Where  the  steamer  hails  the  landing,  or  the  surf-boat  brings 

the  rover — 
Where  the  rails  run  out  in  sand-drift     .     .     .     Quick!  ah, 

heave  the  camp-kit  over, 
For  the  Red  Gods  make  their  medicine  again! 


And  we  go — go — go  away  from  here  I 

On  the  other  side  the  world  we  're  overdue  ! 

'Send  the  road  is  clear  before  you  when  the  old  Spring- 
fret  comes  o'er  you. 
And  the  Red  Gods  call  for  you  ! 


A  BOY  SCOUTS'  PATROL  SONG 
i  9  !  3 

HPHESE  are  our  regulations — 

There's  just  one  law  for  the  Scout 
And  the  first  and  the  last,  and  the  present  and  the  past, 
And  the  future  and  the  perfect  is  "Look  out!" 

I,  thou  and  he,  look  out! 

We,  ye  and  they,  look  out! 

Though  you  didn't  or  you  wouldn't 

Or  you  hadn't  or  you  couldn't; 

You  jolly  well  must  look  out! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  315 

Look  out,  when  you  start  for  the  day 

That  your  kit  is  packed  to  your  mind; 
There  is  no  use  going  away 

With  half  of  it  left  behind. 
Look  out  that  your  laces  are  tight, 

And  your  boots  are  easy  and  stout, 
Or  you'll  end  with  a  blister  at  night. 

(Chorus")     All  Patrols  look  out! 


Look  out  for  the  birds  of  the  air, 

Look  out  for  the  beasts  of  the  field — 
They'll  tell  you  how  and  where 

The  other  side's  concealed. 
When  the  blackbird  bolts  from  the  copse, 

Or  the  cattle  are  staring  about, 
The  wise  commander  stops 

And  (chorus)  All  Patrols  look  out! 

Look  out  when  your  front  is  clear, 

And  you  feel  you  are  bound  to  win. 
Look  out  for  your  flank  and  your  rear — 

That's  where  surprises  begin. 
For  the  rustle  that  isn't  a  rat, 

For  the  splash  that  isn't  a  trout, 
For  the  boulder  that  may  be  a  hat 

(Chorus]     All  Patrols  look  out! 


For  the  innocent  knee-high  grass, 

For  the  ditch  that  never  tells, 
Look  out!     Look  out  ere  you  pass — 

And  look  out  for  everything  eJse! 
A  sign  mis-read  as  you  run 

May  turn  retreat  to  a  rout— 
For  all  things  under  the  sun 

(Chorus)     All  Patrols  look  out! 


316  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Look  out  when  your  temper  goes 

At  the  end  of  a  losing  game; 
When  your  boots  are  too  tight  for  your  toes: 

And  you  answer  and  argue  and  blame. 
It's  the  hardest  part  of  the  Law, 

But  it  has  to  be  learnt  by  the  Scout — 
For  whining  and  shirking  and  "jaw" 

(Chorus}     All  Patrols  look  out! 


THE  TRUCE  OF  THE  BEAR 

1898 

VEARLY,  with  tent  and  rifle,  our  careless  white  men  go 
By  the  pass  called  Muttianee,  to  shoot  in  the  vale  below. 
Yearly  by  Muttianee  he  follows  our  white  men  in — 
Matun,  the  old  blind  beggar,  bandaged  from  brow  to  chin. 

Eyeless,  noseless,  and  lipless — toothless,  broken  of  speech, 
Seeking  a  dole  at  the  doorway  he  mumbles  his  tale  to  each; 
Over  and  over  the  story,  ending  as  he  began: 
"Make  ye  no  truce  with  Adam-zad — the  Bear  that  walks  like 
a  Man! 

"There  was  a  flint  in  my  musket — pricked  and  primed  was 

the  pan, 
When  I  went  hunting  Adam-zad — the  Bear  that  stands  like 

a  Man. 

I  looked  my  last  on  the  timber,  I  looked  my  last  on  the  snow, 
When  I  went  hunting  Adam-zad  fifty  summers  ago! 

"  I  knew  his  times  and  his  seasons,  as  he  knew  mine,  that  fed 
Bv  night  in  the  ripened  maizefield  and  robbed  my  house  of 

bread. 

I  knew  his  strength  and  cunning,  as  he  knew  mine,  that  crept 
At  dawn  to  the  crowded  goat-pens  and  plundered  while  I  slept. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  317 

"Up  from  his  stony  playground — down  from  his  well-digged 

lair — 

Out  on  the  naked  ridges  ran  Adam-zad  the  Bear; 
Groaning,  grunting,  and  roaring,  heavy  with  stolen  meals, 
Two  long  marches  to  northward,  and  I  was  at  his  heels ! 


"Two  long  marches  to  northward,  at  the  fall  of  the  second 

night, 

I  came  on  mine  enemy  Adam-zad  all  panting  from  his  flight. 
There  was  a  charge  in  the  musket — pricked  and  primed  was 

the  pan — 
My  finger  crooked  on  the  trigger — when  he  reared  up  like 


"Horrible,  hairy,  human,  with  paws  like  hands  in  prayer, 

Making  his  supplication  rose  Adam-zad  the  Bear! 

I  looked  at  the  swaying  shoulders,  at  the  paunch's  swag  and 
swing, 

And  my  heart  was  touched  with  pity  for  the  monstrous,  plead- 
ing thing, 

"Touched  with  pity  and  wonder,  I  did  not  fire  then     .     =     . 
I  have  looked  no  more  on  women — I  have  walked  no  more 

with  men. 
Nearer  he  tottered  and  nearer,  with  paws  like  hands  that 

pray— 
From  brow  to  jaw  that  steel-shod  paw,  it  ripped  my  face 

away! 


"Sudden,  silent,  and  savage,  searing  as  flame  the  blow — 
Faceless  I  fell  before  his  feet,  fifty  summers  ago. 
I  heard  him  grunt  and  chuckle — I  heard  him  pass  to  his  den, 
He  left  me  blind  to  the  darkened  years  and  the  little  mercy  of 


3i8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Now  ye  go  down  in  the  morning  with  guns  of  the  newer 

style, 
That  load  (I  have  felt)  in  the  middle  and  range  (I  have  heard) 

a  mile  ? 

Luck  to  the  white  man's  rifle,  that  shoots  so  fast  and  true, 
But — pay,  and  I  lift  my  bandage  and  show  what  the  Bear 

can  do!" 


(Flesh  like  slag  in  the  furnace,  knobbed  and  withered  and 

grey— 
Matun,  the  old  blind  beggar,  he  gives  good  worth  for  his 

pay.) 

"Rouse  him  at  noon  in  the  bushes,  follow  and  press  him  hard — 
Not  for  his  ragings  and  roarings  flinch  ye  from  Adam-zad. 

"But  (pay,  and  I  put  back  the  bandage)  this  is  the  time  to 

fear, 

When  he  stands  up  like  a  tired  man,  tottering  near  and  near; 
When  he  stands  up  as  pleading,  in  wavering,  man-brute  guise, 
When  he  veils  the  hate  and  cunning  of  his  little,  swinish  eyes; 

"When  he  shows  as  seeking  quarter,  with  paws  like  hands  in 

prayer, 
That  is  the  time  of  peril — the  time  of  the  Truce  of  the  Bear!" 

Eyeless,  noseless,  and  lipless,  asking  a  dole  at  the  door, 
Matun,  the  old  blind  beggar,  he  tells  it  o'er  and  o'er; 
Fumbling  and  feeling  the  rifles,  warming  his  hands  at  the 

flame, 
Hearing  our  careless  white  men  talk  of  the  morrow's  game; 

Over  and  over  the  story,  ending  as  he  began: — 
"  There  is  no  truce  with  Adam-zad,,  the  Bear  that  looks  like  a 
Man!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  319 

RUSSIA  TO  THE  PACIFISTS 

1918 

QOD  rest  you,  peaceful  gentlemen,  let  nothing  you  dismay, 
But — leave  your  sports  a  little  while — the  dead  are  borne 

this  way! 

Armies  dead  and  Cities  dead,  past  all  count  or  care. 
God  rest  you,  merry  gentlemen,  what  portent  see  you  there? 
Singing: — Break  ground  for  a  wearied  host 
That  have  no  ground  to  keep. 
Give  them  the  rest  that  they  covet  most   .    .    . 
And  who  shall  next  to  sleep,  good  sirs, 
In  such  a  trench  to  sleep? 

God  rest  you,  peaceful  gentlemen,  but  give  us  leave  to  pass. 
We  go  to  dig  a  nation's  grave  as  great  as  England  was. 
For  this  Kingdom  and  this  Glory  and  this  Power  and  this  Pride 
Three  hundred  years  it  flourished — in  three  hundred  days  it 
died. 

Singing: — Pour  oil  for  a  frozen  throng, 
That  lie  about  the  ways. 
Give  them  the  warmth  they  have  lacked  so 

long    .     .     . 

And  what  shall  be  next  to  blaze,  good  sirs, 
On  such  a  pyre  to  blaze  ? 

God  rest  you,  thoughtful  gentlemen,  and  send  your  sleep  is  light ! 
Remains  of  this  dominion  no  shadow,  sound,  or  sight, 
Except  the  sound  of  weeping  and  the  sight  of  burning  fire, 
And  the  shadow  of  a  people  that  is  trampled  into  mire. 
Singing: — Break  bread  for  a  starving  folk 

That  perish  in  the  field. 

Give  them  their  food  as  they  take  the  yoke  .  .  . 

And  who  shall  be  next  to  yield,  good  sirs, 

For  such  a  bribe  to  yield? 


320  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

God  rest  you,  merry  gentlemen,  and  keep  you  in  your  mirth! 
Was  ever  Kingdom  turned  so  soon  to  ashes,  blood,  and  earth : 
'Twixt  the  summer  and  the  snow — seeding-time  and  frost — 
Arms  and  victual,  hope  and  counsel,  name  and  country  lost! 
Singing: — Let  down  by  the  foot  and  the  head — 

Shovel  and  smooth  it  all ! 

So  do  we  bury  a  Nation  dead    .     .     . 

And  who  shall  be  next  to  fall,  good  sirs, 

With  your  good  help  to  fall? 


THE  PEACE  OF  DIVES 

i  903 

*TPHE  Word  came  down  to  Dives  in  Torment  where  he  lay: 
"Our  World  is  full  of  wickedness,  My  Children  maim  and 

slay, 

"And  the  Saint  and  Seer  and  Prophet 
"Can  make  no  better  of  it 
"Than  to  sanctify  and  prophesy  and  pray. 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  thou  Dives,  and  take  again  thy  gold, 
"And  thy  women  and  thy  housen  as  they  were  to  thee  of  old. 

"It  may  be  grace  hath  found  thee 

"In  the  furnace  where  We  bound  thee, 
"And  that  thou  shalt  bring  the  peace  My  Son  foretold." 

Then  merrily  rose  Dives  and  leaped  from  out  his  fire, 
And  walked  abroad  with  diligence  to  do  the  Lord's  desire; 

And  anon  the  battles  ceased, 

And  the  captives  were  released, 
And  Earth  had  rest  from  Goshen  to  Gadire. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  321 

The  Word  came  down  to  Satan  that  raged  and  roared  alone, 
'Mid  the  shouting  of  the  peoples  by  the  cannon  overthrown 

(But  the  Prophets,  Saints,  and  Seers 

Set  each  other  by  the  ears, 
For  each  would  claim  the  marvel  as  his  own) : 


"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  thou  Satan,  upon  the  Earth  to  go, 
"And  prove  the  Peace  of  Dives  if  it  be  good  or  no: 

"For  all  that  he  hath  planned 

"We  deliver  to  thy  hand, 
"As  thy  skill  shall  serve,  to  break  it  or  bring  low." 


Then  mightily  rose  Satan,  and  about  the  Earth  he  hied, 
And  breathed  on  Kings  in  idleness  and  Princes  drunk  with 
pride. 

But  for  all  the  wrong  he  breathed 

There  was  never  sword  unsheathed, 
And  the  fires  he  lighted  flickered  out  and  died. 


Then  terribly  rose  Satan,  and  he  darkened  Earth  afar, 
Till  he  came  on  cunning  Dives  where  the  money-changers 
are; 

And  he  saw  men  pledge  their  gear 

For  the  gold  that  buys  the  spear, 
And  the  helmet  and  the  habergeon  of  war. 


Yea  to  Dives  came  the  Persian  and  the  Syrian  and  the  Mede — 
And  their  hearts  were  nothing  altered,  nor  their  cunning  nor 
their  greed — 

And  they  pledged  their  flocks  and  farms 

For  the  King-compelling  arms, 
And  Dives  lent  according  to  their  need. 


322  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  Satan  said  to  Dives: — "Return  again  with  me, 
"  Who  hast  broken  His  Commandment  in  the  day  He  set  thee 
free, 

"Who  grindest  for  thy  greed, 

"Man's  belly-pinch  and  need; 
"And  the  blood  of  Man  to  filthy  usury!" 

Then  softly  answered  Dives  where  the  money-changers  sit: — 
"My  refuge  is  Our  Master,  O  My  Master  in  the  Pit. 

"But  behold  all  Earth  is  laid 

"In  the  Peace  which  I  have  made, 
"And  behold  I  wait  on  thee  to  trouble  it!" 

Then  angrily  turned  Satan,  and  about  the  Seas  he  fled, 

To  shake  the  new-sown  peoples  with  insult,  doubt,  and  dread; 

But,  for  all  the  sleight  he  used, 

There  was  never  squadron  loosed. 
And  the  brands  he  flung  flew  dying  and  fell  dead. 

But  to  Dives  came  Atlantis  and  the  Captains  of  the  West — 
And  their  hates  were  nothing  weakened  nor  their  anger  nor 
unrest — 

And  they  pawned  their  utmost  trade 

For  the  dry,  decreeing  blade; 
And  Dives  lent  and  took  of  them  their  best. 

Then  Satan  said  to  Dives: — "Declare  thou  by  The  Name, 
"The  secret  of  thy  subtlety  that  turneth  mine  to  shame. 

"It  is  known  through  all  the  Hells 

"How  my  peoples  mocked  my  spells, 
"And  my  faithless  Kings  denied  me  ere  I  came." 

Then  answered  cunning  Dives:  "Do  not  gold  and  hate  abide 
"At  the  heart  of  every  Magic,  yea,  and  senseless  fear  beside? 

"With  gold  and  fear  and  hate 

"I  have  harnessed  state  to  state, 
"And  by  hate  and  fear  and  gold  their  hates  are  tied.- 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  323 

"For  hate  men  seek  a  weapon,  for  fear  they  seek  a  shield — 
"  Keener  blades  and  broader  targes  than  their  frantic  neigh- 
hours  wield — 

"For  gold  I  arm  their  hands, 

"And  for  gold  I  buy  their  lands, 
"And  for  gold  I  sell  their  enemies  the  yield. 

"Their  nearest  foes  may  purchase,  or  their  furthest  friends 

may  lease, 
"One  by  one  from  Ancient  Accad  to  the  Islands  of  the  Seas. 

"And  their  covenants  they  make 

"For  the  naked  iron's  sake, 
"But  I — I  trap  them  armoured  into  peace. 

"The  flocks  that  Egypt  pledged  me  to  Assyria  I  drave, 
"And  Pharaoh  hath  the  increase  of  the  herds  that  Sargon 
gave. 

"Not  for  Ashdod  overthrown 

"Will  the  Kings  destroy  their  own, 
"Or  their  peoples  wake  the  strife  they  feign  to  brave. 

"Is  not  Carchemish  like  Calno?     For  <!he  steeds  of  their 

desire 
"They  have  sold  me  seven  harvests  that  I  sell  to  Crowning 

Tyre; 

"And  the  Tyrian  sweeps  the  plains 
"With  a  thousand  hired  wains, 
"And  the  Cities  keep  the  peace  and — share  the  hire. 

"Hast  thou  seen  the  pride  of  Moab?     For  the  swords  about 

his  path, 
"His  bond  is  to  Philistia,  in  half  of  all  he  hath. 

"And  he  dare  not  draw  the  sword 

"Till  Gaza  give  the  word, 
"And  he  show  release  from  Askalon  and  Gath. 


324  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Wilt  thou  call  again  thy  peoples,  wilt  thou  craze  anew  thy 

Kings? 
"Lo!  my  lightnings  pass  before  thee,  and  their  whistling 

servant  brings, 

"Ere  the  drowsy  street  hath  stirred — 
"Every  masked  and  midnight  word, 
"And  the  nations  break  their  fast  upon  these  things. 


"So  I  make  a  jest  of  Wonder,  and  a  mock  of  Time  and  Space 
"The  roofless  Seas  an  hostel,  and  the  Earth  a  market-place, 

"Where  the  anxious  traders  know 

"Each  is  surety  for  his  foe, 
"And  none  may  thrive  without  his  fellows'  grace. 

"Now  this  is  all  my  subtlety  and  this  is  all  my  wit, 

"God  give  thee  good  enlightenment,  My  Master  in  the  Pit- 

"But  behold  all  Earth  is  laid 

"In  the  Peace  which  I  have  made, 
"And  behold  I  wait  on  thee  to  trouble  it!" 


A  SONG  OF  THE  WHITE  MEN 

1899 

W,  this  is  the  cup  the  White  Men  drink 
When  they  go  to  right  a  wrong, 
And  that  is  the  cup  of  the  old  world's  hate — 

Cruel  and  strained  and  strong. 
We  have  drunk  that  cup — and  a  bitter,  bitter  cup — 

And  tossed  the  dregs  away. 

But  well  for  the  world  when  the  White  Men  drink 
To  the  dawn  of  the  White  Man's  day! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  325 

Now,  this  is  the  road  that  the  White  Men  tread 

When  they  go  to  clean  a  land — 
Iron  underfoot  and  levin  overhead 

And  the  deep  on  either  hand. 
We  have  trod  that  road — and  a  wet  and  windy  road — 

Our  chosen  star  for  guide. 
Oh,  well  for  the  world  when  the  White  Men  tread 

Their  highway  side  by  side! 

Now,  this  is  the  faith  that  the  White  Men  hold 

When  they  build  their  homes  afar — 
"Freedom  for  ourselves  and  freedom  for  our  sons 

And,  failing  freedom,  War." 
We  have  proved  our  faith — bear  witness  to  our  faith, 

Dear  souls  of  freemen  slain ! 
Oh,  well  for  the  world  when  the  White  Men  join 

To  prove  their  faith  again! 


THE  ROWERS 


1902 

;When  Germany  proposed  that  England  should  help  her  in  a  naval  dem- 
onstration to  collect  debts  from  Venezuela.) 

TTHE  banked  oars  fell  an  hundred  strong, 
And  backed  and  threshed  and  ground, 
But  bitter  was  the  rowers'  song 

As  they  brought  the  war-boat  round. 

They  had  no  heart  for  the  rally  and  roar 
That  makes  the  whale-bath  smoke — 

When  the  great  blades  cleave  and  hold  and  leave 
As  one  on  the  racing  stroke. 


326  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  sang:— 'What  reckoning  do  you  keep, 

And  steer  her  by  what  star, 
If  we  come  unscathed  from  the  Southern  deep 

To  be  wrecked  on  a  Baltic  bar? 

"Last  night  you' swore  our  voyage  was  done, 

But  seaward  still  we  go. 
And  you  tell  us  now  of  a  secret  vow 

You  have  made  with  an  open  foe! 

"That  we  must  lie  off  a  lightless  coast 

And  haul  and  back  and  veer, 
At  the  will  of  the  breed  that  have  wronged  us  most 

For  a  year  and  a  year  and  a  year! 


"There  was  never  a  shame  in  Christendie 

They  laid  not  to  our  door — 
And  you  say  we  must  take  the  winter  sea 

And  sail  with  them  once  more? 


"Look  South!     The  gale  is  scarce  o'erpast 
That  stripped  and  laid  us  down, 

When  we  stood  forth  but  they  stood  fast 
And  prayed  to  see  us  drown. 

"Our  dead  they  mocked  are  scarcely  cold, 

Our  wounds  are  bleeding  yet — 
And  you  tell  us  now  that  our  strength  is  sold 

To  help  them  press  for  a  debt! 

"  'Neath  all  the  flags  of  all  mankind 

That  use  upon  the  seas, 
Was  there  no  other  fleet  to  find 

That  you  strike  hands  with  these? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  327 

"Of  evil  times  that  men  can  choose 

On  evil  fate  to  fall, 
What  brooding  Judgment  let  you  loose 

To  pick  the  worst  of  all  ? 

"In  sight  of  peace — from  the  Narrow  Seas 

O'er  half  the  world  to  run — 
With  a  cheated  crew,  to  league  anew 

With  the  Goth  and  the  shameless  Hun!" 


AN  IMPERIAL  RESCRIPT 

1890 

this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  German  Kaiser 
decreed, 
To  ease  the  strong  of  their  burden,  to  help  the  weak  in  their 

need, 
He  sent  a  word  to  the  peoples,  who  struggle,  and  pant,  and 

sweat, 

That  the  straw  might  be  counted  fairly  and  the  tally  of  bricks 
be  set. 

The  Lords  of  Their  Hands  assembled.     From  the  East  and 

the  West  they  drew — 

Baltimore,  Lille,  and  Essen,  Brummagem,  Clyde,  and  Crewe. 
And  some  were  black  from  the  furnace,  and  some  were  brown 

from  the  soil, 
And  some  were  blue  from  the  dye-vat;  but  all  were  wearied  of 

toil. 

And  the  young  King  said: — "I  have  found  it,  the  road  to 

the  rest  ye  seek: 
"The  strong  shall  wait  for  the  weary,  the  hale  shall  halt  for 

the  weak; 


328  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"With  the  even  tramp  of  an  army  where  no  man  breaks  from 

the  line, 
"Ye  shall  march  to  peace  and  plenty  in  the  bond  of  brother 

hood — sign!" 

The  paper  lay  on  the  table,  the  strong  heads  bowed  thereby, 
And  a  wail  went  up  from  the  peoples: — "Ay,  sign — give 

rest,  for  we  die!" 
A  hand  was  stretched  to  the  goose-quill,  a  fist  was  cramped  to 

scrawl, 
When — the  laugh  of  a  blue-eyed  maiden  ran  clear  through 

the  council-hall. 

And  each  one  heard  Her  laughing  as  each  one  saw  Her 

plain — 

Saidie,  Mimi,  or  Olga,  Gretchen,  or  Mary  Jane. 
And  the  Spirit  of  Man  That  is  in  Him  to  the  light  of  the 

vision  woke; 
And  the  men  drew  back  from  the  paper,  as  a  Yankee  delegate 

spoke : — 

"There's  a  girl  in  Jersey  City  who  works  on  the  telephone; 
"  We're  going  to  hitch  our  horses  and  dig  for  a  house  of  our 

own, 
"  With  gas  and  water  connections,  and  steam-heat  through  to 

the  top; 
"And,  W.  Hohenzollern,  I  guess  I  shall  work  till  I  drop." 

And  an  English  delegate  thundered: — "The  weak  an'  the 

lame  be  blowed! 
"I've  a  berth  in  the  Sou '-West  workshops,  a  home  in  the 

Wandsworth  Road; 

"And  till  the  'sociation  has  footed  my  buryin'  bill, 
"I  work  for  the  kids  an'  the  missus.     Pull  up!  I'll  be  damned 

if  I  will!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  329 

And  over  the  German  benches  the  bearded  whisper  ran: — 
"Lager,  der  girls  und  der  dollars,  dey  makes  or  dey  breaks 

a  man. 
"If  Schmitt  haf  collared  der  dollars,  he  collars  der  girl 

deremit; 
"But  if  Schmitt  bust  in  der  pizness,  we  collars  der  girl  from 

Schmitt." 

They  passed  one  resolution: — "Your  sub-committee  believe 
"You  can  lighten  the  curse  of  Adam  when  you've  lifted  the 

curse  of  Eve. 
"But  till  we  are  built  like  angels,  with  hammer  and  chisel 

and  pen, 
"We  will  work  for  ourselves  and  a  woman,  for  ever  and  ever, 

amen." 

Now  this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  German  Kaiser  held — 
The  day  that  they  razored  the  Grindstone,  the  day  that  the 

Cat  was  belled, 
The  day  of  the  Figs  from  Thistles,  the  day  of  the  Twisted 

Sands, 
The  day  that  the  laugh  of  a  maiden  made  light  of  the  Lords  of 

Their  Hands. 


A  DEATH-BED 

1918 

HPHIS  is  the  State  above  the  Law. 

The  State  exists  for  the  State  alone.' 
[This  is  a  gland  at  the  back  of  the  jaw, 
And  an  answering  lump  by  the  collar-bone.] 

Some  die  shouting  in  gas  or  fire; 

Some  die  silent,  by  shell  and  shot. 
Some  die  desperate,  caught  on  the  wire; 

Some  die  suddenly.     This  will  not. 


330  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Regis  suprema  voluntas  Lex" 

[//  will  follow  the  regular  course  of— throats} 
Some  die  pinned  by  the  broken  decks, 

Some  die  sobbing  between  the  boats. 

Some  die  eloquent,  pressed  to  death 

By  the  sliding  trench  as  their  friends  can  hear. 

Some  die  wholly  in  half  a  breath. 
Some — give  trouble  for  half  a  year. 


"There  is  neither  Evil  nor  Good  in  life 
Except  as  the  needs  of  the  State  ordain.' 

[Since  it  is  rather  too  late  for  the  knife, 
All  we  can  do  is  to  mask  the  pain.} 

Some  die  saintly  in  faith  and  hope — 
One  died  thus  in  a  prison-yard — 

Some  die  broken  by  rape  or  the  rope; 
Some  die  easily.  This  dies  hard. 

"I  will  dash  to  pieces  who  bar  my  way. 

Woe  to  the  traitor!     Woe  to  the  weak!" 
[Let  him  write  what  he  wishes  to  say. 

It  tires  him  out  if  he  tries  to  speak.} 

Some  die  quietly.     Some  abound 
In  loud  self-pity.     Others  spread 

Bad  morale  through  the  cots  around     . 
This  is  a  type  that  is  better  dead. 

"The  war  was  forced  on  me  by  my  foes. 

All  that  I  sought  was  the  right  to  live." 
[Don't  be  afraid  of  a  triple  dose; 

The  pain  will  neutralize  half  we  give. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  331 

Here  are  the  needles.     See  that  he  dies 

While  the  effects  of  the  drug  endure.     .     .     . 

What  is  the  question  he  asks  with  his  eyes? — 
Yes,  All-Highest^  to  God,  be  sure.] 


ET  DONA  FERENTES 

1896 

TN  EXTENDED  observation  of  the  ways  and  works  of  man, 
From  the   Four-mile  Radius  roughly  to  the  Plains  of 

Hindustan: 
I  have  drunk  with  mixed  assemblies,  seen  the  racial  ruction 

rise, 
And  the  men  of  half  Creation  damning  half  Creation's  eyes. 

I  have  watched  them  in  their  tantrums,  all  that  pentecostal 

crew, 
French,  Italian,  Arab,  Spaniard,  Dutch  and  Greek,  and  Russ 

and  Jew, 
Celt  and  savage,  buff  and  ochre,  cream  and  yellow,  mauve 

and  white; 
But  it  never  really  mattered  till  the  English  grew  polite; 

Till  the  men  with  polished  toppers,  till  the  men  in  long  frock- 
coats, 

Till  the  men  who  do  not  duel,  till  the  men  who  war  with  votes, 

Till  the  breed  that  take  their  pleasures  as  Saint  Lawrence  took 
his  grid, 

Began  to  "beg  your  pardon"  and — the  knowing  croupier 
hid. 

Then  the  bandsmen  with  their  fiddles,  and  the  girls  that  bring 

the  beer, 
Felt  the  psychologic  moment,  left  the  lit  casino  clear; 


33*  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

But  the  uninstructed  alien,  from  the  Teuton  to  the  Gaul, 
Was  entrapped,  once  more,  my  country,  by  that  suave,  decep- 
tive drawl. 


As  it  was  in  ancient  Suez  or  'neath  wilder,  milder  skies, 
I  "observe  with  apprehension"  when  the  racial  ructions  rise; 
And  with  keener  apprehension,  if  I  read  the  times  aright, 
Hear  the  old  casino  order:     "Watch  your  man,  but  be  polite. 

"  Keep  your  temper.     Never  answer  (that  was  why  they  spat 

and  swore). 
Don't  hit  first,  but  move  together  (there's  no  hurry)  to  the 

door. 
Back  to  back,  and  facing  outward  while  the  linguist  tells  'em 

how — 
"Nous  sommes  allong  ah  notre  batteau,  nous  ne  voulong  pas 

tin  row.'" 

So  the  hard,  pent  rage  ate  inward,  till  some  idiot  went  too 

far     ... 
"Let  'em  have  it!"  and  they  had  it,  and  the  same  was  merry 

war. 
Fist,  umbrella,  cane,  decanter,  lamp  and  beer-mug,  chair  and 

boot — 
Till  behind  the  fleeing  legions  rose  the  long,  hoarse  yell  for 

loot. 

Then  the  oil-cloth  with  its  numbers,  like  a  banner  fluttered 
free; 

Then  the  grand  piano  cantered,  on  three  castors,  down  the 
quay; 

White,  and  breathing  through  their  nostrils,  silent,  syste- 
matic, swift — 

They  removed,  effaced,  abolished  all  that  man  could  heave  or 
lift. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  333 

Oh,  my  country,  bless  the  training  that  from  cot  to  castle 
runs — 

The  pitfall  of  the  stranger  but  the  bulwark  of  thy  sons — 

Measured  speech  and  ordered  action,  sluggish  soul  and  un- 
perturbed, 

Till  we  wake  our  Island-Devil — nowise  cool  for  being  curbed! 

When  the  heir  of  all  the  ages  "has  the  honour  to  remain," 
When  he  will  not  hear  an  insult,  though  men  make  it  ne'er  so 

plain, 
When  his  lips  are  schooled  to  meekness,  when  his  back  is 

bowed  to  blows — 
Well  the  keen  aas-vogels  know  it — well  the  waiting  jackal 

knows. 

Build  on  the  flanks  of  Etna  where  the  sullen  smoke-puffs 

float— 

Or  bathe  in  tropic  waters  where  the  lean  fin  dogs  the  boat — 
Cock  the  gun  that  is  not  loaded,  cook  the  frozen  dynamite — 
But  oh,  beware  my  Country,  when  my  Country  grows 

polite! 


THE   HOLY  WAR 


1917 

("For  here  lay  the  excellent  wisdom  of  him  that  built  Mansoul,  that  the 
walls  could  never  be  broken  down  nor  hurt  by  the  most  mighty  adverse 
potentate  unless  the  townsmen  gave  consent  thereto." — BUNYAN'S 
Holy  War.) 

^  TINKER  out  of  Bedford, 

A  vagrant  oft  in  quod, 
A  private  under  Fairfax^ 
A  minister  of  God — 


334  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Two  hundred  years  and  thirty 

Ere  Armageddon  came 
His  single  hand  portrayed  it, 

And  Bunyan  was  his  name! 

He  mapped  for  those  who  follow, 

The  world  in  which  we  are — 
"This  famous  town  of  Mansoul" 

That  takes  the  Holy  War. 
Her  true  and  traitor  people, 

The  gates  along  her  wall, 
From  Eye  Gate  unto  Feel  Gate, 

John  Bunyan  showed  them  all. 

All  enemy  divisions, 

Recruits  of  every  class, 
And  highly-screened  positions 

For  flame  or  poison-gas; 
The  craft  that  we  call  modern, 

The  crimes  that  we  call  new, 
John  Bunyan  had  'em  typed  and  filed 

In  sixteen  Eighty-two. 

Likewise  the  Lords  of  Looseness 
That  hamper  faith  and  works, 

The  Perseverance-Doubters, 
And  Present-Comfort  shirks, 

With  brittle  intellectuals 

Who  crack  beneath  a  strain — 

John  Bunyan  met  that  helpful  set 
In  Charles  the  Second's  reign. 

Emmanuel's  vanguard  dying 
For  right  and  not  for  rights, 

My  Lord  Apollyon  lying 
To  the  State-kept  Stockholm ites, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  335 

The  Pope,  the  swithering  Neutrals, 

The  Kaiser  and  his  Gott — 
Their  roles,  their  goals,  their  naked  souls — 

He  knew  and  drew  the  lot. 

Now  he  hath  left  his  quarters, 

In  Bunhill  Fields  to  lie, 
The  wisdom  that  he  taught  us 

Is  proven  prophecy — 
One  watchword  through  our  Armies, 

One  answer  from  our  Lands: — 
"No  dealings  with  Diabolus 

As  long  as  Mansoul  stands!" 

A  pedlar  from  a  hove/, 

The  lowest  of  the  low, 
The  Father  of  the  Novel, 

Salvation  s  first  Defoe, 
Eight  blinded  generations 

Ere  Armageddon  came, 
He  showed  us  how  to  meet  it, 

And  Bunyan  was  his  name  ! 


FRANCE 

VrX  i  9  *  3 

J2ROKE  to  every  known  mischance,  lifted  over  all 

By  the  light  sane  joy  of  life,  the  buckler  of  the  Gaul; 
Furious  in  luxury,  merciless  in  toil, 
Terrible  with  strength  that  draws  from  her  tireless  soil; 
Strictest  judge  of  her  own  worth,  gentlest  of  man's  mind, 
First  to  follow  Truth  and  last  to  leave  old  Truths  behind — 
France,  beloved  of  every  soul  that  loves  its  fellow-kind  ! 


336  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Ere  our  birth  (rememberest  thou?)  side  by  side  we  lav- 
Fretting  in  the  womb  of  Rome  to  begin  our  fray. 
Ere  men  knew  our  tongues  apart,  our  one  task  was  known — 
Each  to  mould  the  other's  fate  as  he  wrought  his  own. 
To  this  end  we  stirred  mankind  till  all  Earth  was  ours, 
Till  our  world-end  strifes  begat  wayside  Thrones  and  Powers — 
Puppets  that  we  made  or  broke  to  bar  the  other's  path — 
Necessary,  outpost-folk,  hirelings  of  our  wrath. 
To  this  end  we  stormed  the  seas,  tack  for  tack,  and  burst 
Through  the  doorways  of  new  worlds,  doubtful  which  was 

first, 

Hand  on  hilt  (rememberest  thou  ?)  ready  for  the  blow — 
Sure,  whatever  else  we  met,  we  should  meet  our  foe. 
Spurred  or  balked  at  every  stride  by  the  other's  strength, 
So  we  rode  the  ages  down  and  every  ocean's  length ! 

Where  did  you  refrain  from  us  or  we  refrain  from  you? 
Ask  the  wave  that  has  not  watched  war  between  us  two! 
Others  held  us  for  a  while,  but  with  weaker  charms, 
These  we  quitted  at  the  call  for  each  other's  arms. 
Eager  toward  the  known  delight,  equally  we  strove — 
Each  the  other's  mystery,  terror,  need,  and  love. 
To  each  other's  open  court  with  our  proofs  we  came. 
Where  could  we  find  honour  else,  or  men  to  test  our  claim? 
From  each  other's  throat  we  wrenched — valour's  last  re- 
ward— 

That  extorted  word  of  praise  gasped  'twixt  lunge  and  guard. 
In  each  other's  cup  we  poured  mingled  blood  and  tears, 
Brutal  joys,  unmeasured  hopes,  intolerable  fears — 
All  that  soiled  or  salted  life  for  a  thousand  years. 
Proved  beyond  the  need  of  proof,  matched  in  every  c^ime, 
O  Companion,  we  have  lived  greatly  through  all  time! 

Yoked  in  knowledge  and  remorse,  now  we  come  to  rest, 
Laughing  at  old  villainies  that  Time  has  turned  to  jest; 
Pardoning  old  necessities  no  pardon  can  efface — 
That  undying  sin  we  shared  in  Rouen  market-place. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  337 

Now  we  watch  the  new  years  shape,  wondering  if  they  hold 
Fiercer  lightnings  in  their  heart  than  we  launched  of  old. 
Now  we  hear  new  voices  rise,  question,  boast  or  gird, 
As  we  raged  (rememberest  thou?)  when  our  crowds  were 

stirred. 

Now  we  count  new  keels  afloat,  and  new  hosts  on  land, 
Massed  like  ours  (rememberest  thou?)  when  our  strokes  were 

planned. 
We  were  schooled  for  dear  life's  sake,  to  know  each  other's 

blade. 

What  can  Blood  and  Iron  make  more  than  we  have  made? 
We  have  learned  by  keenest  use  to  know  each  other's  mind. 
What  shall  Blood  and  Iron  loose  that  we  cannot  bind? 
We  who  swept  each  other's  coast,  sacked  each  other's  home, 
Since  the  sword  of  Brennus  clashed  on  the  scales  at  Rome 
Listen,  count  and  close  again,  wheeling  girth  to  girth, 
In  the  linked  and  steadfast  guard  set  for  peace  on  earth! 

Broke  to  every  known  mischance,  lifted  over  all 

By  the  light  sane  joy  of  life,  the  buckler  of  the  Gaul; 

Furious  in  luxury,  merciless  in  toil, 

Terrible  with  strength  renewed  from  a  tireless  soil; 

Strictest  judge  of  her  own  worth,  gentlest  of  man's  mind, 

First  to  face  the  Truth  and  last  to  leave  old  Truths  behind — 

France,  beloved  of  every  soul  that  loves  or  serves  its  kind! 


"BEFORE  A  MIDNIGHT  BREAKS  IN  STORM' 

i  903 

T5EFORE  a  midnight  breaks  in  storm, 

Or  herded  sea  in  wrath, 
Ye  know  what  wavering  gusts  inform 
The  greater  tempest's  path? 
Till  the  loosed  wind 
Drive  all  from  mind, 


338  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Except  Distress,  which,  so  will  prophets  cry, 
O'ercame  them,  houseless,  from  the  unhinting  sky. 

Ere  rivers  league  against  the  land 

In  piratry  of  flood, 

Ye  know  what  waters  steal  and  stand 
Where  seldom  water  stood. 
Yet  who  will  note, 
Till  fields  afloat, 

And  washen  carcass  and  the  returning  well, 
Trumpet  what  these  poor  heralds  strove  to  tell? 

Ye  know  who  use  the  Crystal  Ball 

(To  peer  by  stealth  on  Doom), 
The  Shade  that,  shaping  first  of  all, 
Prepares  an  empty  room. 
Then  doth  It  pass 
Like  breath  from  glass, 
But,  on  the  extorted  vision  bowed  intent, 
No  man  considers  why  It  came  or  went. 

Before  the  years  reborn  behold 

Themselves  with  stranger  eye, 
And  the  sport-making  Gods  of  old, 
Like  Samson  slaying,  die, 
Many  shall  hear 
The  all-pregnant  sphere, 

Bow  to  the  birth  and  sweat,  but — speech  denied — 
Sit  dumb  or — dealt  in  part — fall  weak  and  wide. 

Yet  instant  to  fore-shadowed  need 

The  eternal  balance  swings; 
That  winged  men  the  Fates  may  breed 
So  soon  as  Fate  hath  wings. 
These  shall  possess 
Our  littleness, 

And  in  the  imperial  task  (as  worthy)  lay 
Up  our  lives'  all  to  piece  one  giant  Day. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  339 

THE  BELL  BUOY 

1896 

'"THEY  christened  my  brother  of  old — 

And  a  saintly  name  he  bears — 
They  gave  him  his  place  to  hold 

At  the  head  of  the  belfry-stairs, 

Where  the  minster-towers  stand 
And  the  breeding  kestrels  cry. 

Would  I  change  with  my  brother  a  league  inland? 
(Shoal!     'Ware  shoal!)     Not  I! 

In  the  flush  of  the  hot  June  prime, 

O'ersleek  flood-tides  afire, 
I  hear  him  hurry  the  chime 

To  the  bidding  of  checked  Desire; 

Till  the  sweated  ringers  tire 
And  the  wild  bob-majors  die. 

Could  I  wait  for  my  turn  in  the  godly  choir? 
(Shoal!     Ware  shoal!)     Not  I! 

When  the  smoking  scud  is  blown — 

When  the  greasy  wind-rack  lowers — 
Apart  and  at  peace  and  alone, 

He  counts  the  changeless  hours. 

He  wars  with  darkling  Powers 
(I  war  with  a  darkling  sea); 

Would  he  stoop  to  my  work  in  the  gusty  mirk? 
(Shoal!     'Ware  shoal!)     Not  he! 

There  was  never  a  priest  to  pray, 

There  was  never  a  hand  to  toll, 
When  they  made  me  guard  of  the  bay, 

And  moored  me  over  the  shoal . 


340  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I  rock,  I  reel,  and  I  roll — 
My  four  great  hammers  ply — 

Could  I  speak  or  be  still  at  the  Church's  will? 
(Shoal!     Ware  shoal!)     Not  I! 

The  landward  marks  have  failed, 

The  fog-bank  glides  unguessed, 
The  seaward  lights  are  veiled, 

The  spent  deep  feigns  her  rest: 

But  my  ear  is  laid  to  her  breast, 
I  lift  to  the  swell — I  cry! 

Could  I  wait  in  sloth  on  the  Church's  oath? 
(Shoal!     Ware  shoal!)     Not  I! 

At  the  careless  end  of  night 

I  thrill  to  the  nearing  screw; 
I  turn  in  the  clearing  light 

And  I  call  to  the  drowsy  crew; 

And  the  mud  boils  foul  and  blue 
As  the  blind  bow  backs  away. 

Will  they  give  me  their  thanks  if  they  clear  the  banks? 
(Shoal!     Ware  shoal!)     Not  they! 

The  beach-pools  cake  and  skim, 

The  bursting  spray-heads  freeze, 
I  gather  on  crown  and  rim 

The  grey,  grained  ice  of  the  seas, 

Where,  sheathed  from  bitt  to  trees, 
The  plunging  colliers  lie. 

Would  I  barter  my  place  for  the  Church's  grace? 
(Shoal!     'Ware  shoal !)     Not  I! 

Through  the  blur  of  the  whirling  snow, 

Or  the  black  of  the  inky  sleet, 
The  lanterns  gather  and  grow, 

And  I  look  for  the  homeward  fleet. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918          341 

Rattle  of  block  and  sheet — 
"Ready  about — stand  by!" 

Shall  I  ask  them  a  fee  ere  they  fetch  the  quay? 
(Shoal!     Ware  shoal!)     Not  I! 

I  dip  and  I  surge  and  I  swing 

In  the  rip  of  the  racing  tide, 
By  the  gates  of  doom  I  sing, 

On  the  horns  of  death  I  ride. 

A  ship-length  overside, 
Between  the  course  and  the  sand, 

Fretted  and  bound  I  bide 
Peril  whereof  I  cry. 

Would  I  change  with  my  brother  a  league  inland? 
(Shoal!     Ware  shoal!)     Not  I! 


THE  OLD  ISSUE 

OCTOBER  9,  1899 

(Outbreak  of  Boer  War) 

l-JERE  is  nothing  new  nor  aught  unproven"  say  the  Trum- 
pets, 

" Many  feet  have  worn  it  and  the  road  is  old  indeed. 
"It  is  the  King — the  King  we  schooled  aforetime  !" 

( Trumpets  in  the  marshes — in  the  eyot  at  Runny mede  !) 

"Here  is  neither  haste •,  nor  hate,  nor  anger"  peal  the  Trumpets, 
"  Pardon  for  his  penitence  or  pity  for  his  fall. 

"It  is  the  King!" — inexorable  Trumpets — 

(Trumpets  round  the  scaffold  at  the  dawning  by  WhiteJtall '/) 


342  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"He  hath  veiled  the  Crown  and  hid  the  Sceptre"  wan  the  Trum- 
pets, 

"He  hath  changed  the  fashion  of  the  lies  that  cloak  his  will. 
"Hard  die  the  Kings — ah  hard — dooms  hard!"  declare  the 

Trumpets, 

Trumpets  at  the  gang-plank  where  the  brawling  troop-decks 
fill! 

Ancient  and  Unteachable,  abide — abide  the  Trumpets! 

Once  again  the  Trumpets,  for  the  shuddering  ground-swell 

brings 
Clamour  over  ocean  of  the  harsh,  pursuing  Trumpets — 

Trumpets  of  the  Vanguard  that  have  sworn  no  truce  with 
Kings  ! 

All  we  have  of  freedom,  all  we  use  or  know — 
This  our  fathers  bought  for  us  long  and  long  ago. 

Ancient  Right  unnoticed  as  the  breath  we  draw — 
Leave  to  live  by  no  man's  leave,  underneath  the  Law. 

Lance  and  torch  and  tumult,  steel  and  grey-goose  wing 
Wrenched  it,  inch  and  ell  and  all,  slowly  from  the  King. 

Till  our  fathers  'stablished,  after  bloody  years, 
How  our  King  is  one  with  us,  first  among  his  peers. 

So  they  bought  us  freedom — not  at  little  cost — 
Wherefore  must  we  watch  the  King,  lest  our  gain  be  lost. 

Over  all  things  certain,  this  is  sure  indeed, 
Suffer  not  the  old  King:  for  we  know  the  breed. 

Give  no  ear  to  bondsmen  bidding  us  endure. 

Whining  "He  is  weak  and  far";  crying  "Time  shall  cure." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  343 

(Time  himself  is  witness,  till  the  battle  joins, 
Deeper  strikes  the  rottenness  in  the  people's  loins.) 

Give  no  heed  to  bondsmen  masking  war  with  peace. 
Suffer  not  the  old  King  here  or  overseas. 

They  that  beg  us  barter — wait  his  yielding  mood — 
Pledge   the  years  we   hold   in   trust — pawn   our   brother's 
blood— 

Howso'  great  their  clamour,  whatsoe'er  their  claim, 
Suffer  not  the  old  King  under  any  name! 

Here  is  naught  unproven — here  is  naught  to  learn. 
It  is  written  what  shall  fall  if  the  King  return. 

He  shall  mark  our  goings,  question  whence  we  came, 
Set  his  guards  about  us,  as  in  Freedom's  name. 

He  shall  take  a  tribute,  toll  of  all  our  ware; 

He  shall  change  our  gold  for  arms — arms  we  may  not  bear. 

He  shall  break  his  Judges  if  they  cross  his  word; 
He  shall  rule  above  the  Law  calling  on  the  Lord. 

He  shall  peep  and  mutter;  and  the  night  shall  bring 
Watchers  'neath  our  window,  lest  we  mock  the  King — 

Hate  and  all  division;  hosts  of  hurrying  spies; 
Money  poured  in  secret,  carrion  breeding  flies. 

Strangers  of  his  counsel,  hirelings  of  his  pay, 
These  shall  deal  our  Justice:  sell — deny—delay. 

We  shall  drink  dishonour,  we  shall  eat  abuse 
For  the  Land  we  look  to — for  the  Tongue  we  use. 


344  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We  shall  take  our  station,  dirt  beneath  his  feet, 
While  his  hired  captains  jeer  us  in  the  street. 

Cruel  in  the  shadow,  crafty  in  the  sun, 

Far  beyond  his  borders  shall  his  teachings  run. 

Sloven,  sullen,  savage,  secret,  uncontrolled, 
Laying  on  a  new  land  evil  of  the  old — 

Long-forgotten  bondage,  dwarfing  heart  and  brain — 
All  our  fathers  died  to  loose  he  shall  bind  again. 

Here  is  naught  at  venture,  random  nor  untrue — 
Swings  the  wheel  full-circle,  brims  the  cup  anew. 

Here  is  naught  unproven,  here  is  nothing  hid: 

Step  for  step  and  word  for  word — so  the  old  Kings  did  ! 

Step  by  step,  and  word  by  word:  who  is  ruled  may  read. 
Suffer  not  the  old  Kings:  for  we  know  the  breed — 

All  the  right  they  promise — all  the  wrong  they  bring. 
Stewards  of  the  Judgment,  suffer  not  this  King  ! 


THE  LESSON 

1899-1902 

(Boer  War) 

T  ET  us  admit  it  fairly,  as  a  business  people  should, 

We  have  had  no  end  of  a  lesson:  it  will  do  us  no  end  of 
good. 

Not  on  a  single  issue,  or  in  one  direction  or  twain, 
But  conclusively,  comprehensively,  and  several  times  and 
again, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  345 

Were  all  our  most  holy  illusions  knocked  higher  than  Gilde- 

roy's  kite. 
We  have  had  a  jolly  good  lesson,  and  it  serves  us  jolly  well 

right! 

This  was  not  bestowed  us  under  the  trees,  nor  yet  in  the  shade 
of  a  tent, 

But  swingingly,  over  eleven  degrees  of  a  bare  brown  conti- 
nent. 

From  Lamberts  to  Delagoa  Bay,  and  from  Pietersburg  to 
Sutherland, 

Fell  the  phenomenal  lesson  we  learned — with  a  fulness  ac- 
corded no  other  land. 


It  was  our  fault,  and  our  very  great  fault,  and  not  the  judg- 
ment of  Heaven. 

We  made  an  Army  in  our  own  image,  on  an  island  nine  by 
seven, 

Which  faithfully  mirrored  its  makers'  ideals,  equipment,  and 
mental  attitude — 

And  so  we  got  our  lesson:  and  we  ought  to  accept  it  with 
gratitude. 

We  have  spent  two  hundred  million  pounds  to  prove  the  fact 

once  more, 
That  horses  are  quicker  than  men  afoot,  since  two  and  two 

make  four; 
And  horses  have  four  legs,  and  men  have  two  legs,  and  two 

into  four  goes  twice, 
And  nothing  over  except  our  lesson — and  very  cheap  at  the 

price. 

For  remember  (this  our  children  shall  know:  we  are  too  near 

for  that  knowledge) 
Not  our  mere  astonied  camps,  but  Council  and  Creed  and 

College— 


346  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

All  the  obese,  unchallenged  old  things  that  stifle  and  overlie 

us — 
Have  felt  the  effects  of  the  lesson  we  got — an  advantage  no 

money  could  buy  us! 

Then  let  us  develop  this  marvellous  asset  which  we  alone 

command, 
And  which,  it  may  subsequently  transpire,  will  be  worth  as 

much  as  the  Rand. 
Let  us  approach  this  pivotal  fact  in  a  humble  yet  hopeful 

mood — 
We  have  had  no  end  of  a  lesson,  it  will  do  us  no  end  of  good! 

It  was  our  fault,  and  our  very  great  fault — and  now  we  must 

turn  it  to  use. 
We  have  forty  million  reasons  for  failure,  but  not  a  single 

excuse. 
So  the  more  we  work  and  the  less  we  talk  the  better  results 

we  shall  get — 
We  have  had  an  Imperial  lesson;  it  may  make  us  an  Empire 

yet! 


MESOPOTAMIA 

1917 

HPHEY  shall  not  return  to  us,  the  resolute,  the  young 

The  eager  and  whole-hearted  whom  we  gave: 
But  the  men  who  left  them  thriftily  to  die  in  their  own  dung, 
Shall  they  come  with  years  and  honour  to  the  grave? 

They  shall  not  return  to  us,  the  strong  men  coldly  slain 

In  sight  of  help  denied  from  day  to  day: 
But  the  men  who  edged  their  agonies  and  chid  them  in  their 
pain, 

Are  they  too  strong  and  wise  to  put  away? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  347 

Our  dead  shall  not  return  to  us  while  Day  and  Night  divide — 

Never  while  the  bars  of  sunset  hold. 
But  the  idle-minded  overlings  who  quibbled  while  they  died, 

Shall  they  thrust  for  high  employments  as  of  old? 

Shall  we  only  threaten  and  be  angry  for  an  hour? 

When  the  storm  is  ended  shall  we  find 
How  softly  but  how  swiftly  they  have  sidled  back  to  power 

By  the  favour  and  contrivance  of  their  kind? 

Even  while  they  soothe  us,  while  they  promise  large  amends, 

Even  while  they  make  a  show  of  fear, 

Do  they  call  upon  their  debtors,  and  take  council  with  their 
friends, 

To  confirm  and  re-establish  each  career? 

Their  lives  cannot  repay  us — their  death  could  not  undo — 
The  shame  that  they  have  laid  upon  our  race. 

But  the  slothfulness  that  wasted  and  the  arrogance  that  slew, 
Shall  we  leave  it  unabated  in  its  place? 


THE  ISLANDERS 

1902 

7V7"0  DOUBT  but  ye  are  the  People — your  throne  is  above  the 

King's. 

Whoso  speaks  in  your  presence  must  say  acceptable  things: 
Bowing  the  head  in  worship,  bending  the  knee  in  fear — 
Bringing  the  word  well  smoothen — such  as  a  King  should  hear. 

Fenced  by  your  careful  fathers,  ringed  by  your  leaden  seas, 
Long  did  ye  wake  in  quiet  and  long  lie  down  at  ease; 


348  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Till  ye  said  of  Strife,  "What  is  it?"  of  the  Sword,  "It  is  far 

from  our  ken"; 
Till  ye  made  a  sport  of  your  shrunken  hosts  and  a  toy  of  your 

armed  men. 
Ye  stopped  your  ears  to  the  warning — ye  would  neither  look 

nor  heed — 
Ye  set  your  leisure  before  their  toil  and  your  lusts  above  their 

need. 
Because  of  your  witless  learning  and  your  beasts  of  warren 

and  chase, 
Ye  grudged  your  sons  to  their  service  and  your  fields  for  their 

camping-place. 
Ye  forced  them  to  glean  in  the  highways  the  straw  for  the 

bricks  they  brought; 
Ye  forced  them  follow  in  byways  the  craft  that  ye  never 

taught. 
Ye  hindered  and  hampered  and  crippled;  ye  thrust  out  of 

sight  and  away 
Those  that  would  serve  you  for  honour  and  those  that  served 

you  for  pay. 
Then  were  the  judgments  loosened;  then  was  your  shame 

revealed, 

At  the  hands  of  a  little  people,  few  but  apt  in  the  field. 
Yet  ye  were  saved  by  a  remnant  (and  your  land's  long-suffer- 
ing star), 
When  your  strong  men  cheered  in  their  millions  while  your 

striplings  went  to  the  war. 

Sons  of  the  sheltered  city — unmade,  unhandled,  unmeet — 
Ye  pushed  them  raw  to  the  battle  as  ye  picked  them  raw  from 

the  street. 
And  what  did  ye   look   they  should  compass?     Warcraft 

learned  in  a  breath, 

Knowledge  unto  occasion  at  the  first  far  view  of  Death? 
So  ?     And  ye  train  your  horses  and  the  dogs  ye  feed  and  prize  ? 
How  are  the  beasts  more  worthy  than  the  souls,  your  sacrifice  ? 
But  ye  said,  "Their  valour  shall  show  them";  but  ye  said, 

"The  end  is  close." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  349 

And  ye  sent  them  comfits  and  pictures  to  help  them  harry 

your  foes: 
And  ye  vaunted  your  fathomless  power,  and  ye  flaunted 

your  iron  pride, 
Ere — ye  fawned  on  the  Younger  Nations  for  the  men  who 

could  shoot  and  ride! 
Then  ye  returned  to  your  trinkets;  then  ye  contented  your 

souls 
With  the  flannelled  fools  at  the  wicket  or  the  muddied  oafs  at 

the  goals. 

Given  to  strong  delusion,  wholly  believing  a  lie, 
Ye  saw  that  the  land  lay  fenceless,  and  ye  let  the  months  go 

by 

Waiting  some  easy  wonder,  hoping  some  saving  sign — 
Idle — openly  idle — in  the  lee  of  the  forespent  Line. 
Idle — except  for  your  boasting — and  what  is  your  boasting 

worth 

If  ye  grudge  a  year  of  service  to  the  lordliest  life  on  earth? 
Ancient,  effortless,  ordered,  cycle  on  cycle  set, 
Life  so  long  untroubled,  that  ye  who  inherit  forget 
It  was  not  made  with  the  mountains,  it  is  not  one  with  the 

deep. 

Men,  not  gods,  devised  it.     Men,  not  gods,  must  keep. 
Men,  not  children,  servants,  or  kinsfolk  called  from  afar, 
But  each  man  born  in  the  Island  broke  to  the  matter  of  war. 
Soberly  and  by  custom  taken  and  trained  for  the  same, 
Each  man  born  in  the  Island  entered  at  youth  to  the  game — 
As  it  were  almost  cricket,  not  to  be  mastered  in  haste, 
But  after  trial  and  labour,  by  temperance,  living  chaste. 
As  it  were  almost  cricket — as  it  were  even  your  play, 
Weighed  and  pondered  and  worshipped,  and  practised  day 

and  day. 
So  ye  shall  bide  sure-guarded  when  the  restless  lightnings 

wake 
In  the  womb  of  the  blotting  war-cloud,  and  the  pallid  nations 

quake. 
So,  at  the  haggard  trumpets,  instant  your  soul  shall  leap 


350  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Forthright,   accoutred,   accepting — alert   from   the  wells  of 

sleep. 
So  at  the  threat  ye  shall  summon — so  at  the  need  ye  shall 

send 
Men,  not  children  or  servants,  tempered  and  taught  to  the 

end; 

Cleansed  of  servile  panic,  slow  to  dread  or  despise, 
Humble  because  of  knowledge,  mighty  by  sacrifice.     .     .     . 
But  ye  say,  "It  will  mar  our  comfort."     Ye  say,  "It  will 

minish  our  trade." 
Do  ye  wait  for  the  spattered  shrapnel  ere  ye  learn  how  a  gun 

is  laid  ? 

For  the  low,  red  glare  to  southward  when  the  raided  coast- 
towns  burn? 

(Light  ye  shall  have  on  that  lesson,  but  little  time  to  learn.) 
Will  ye  pitch  some  white  pavilion,  and  lustily  even  the  odds, 
With  nets  and  hoops  and  mallets,  with  rackets  and  bats  and 

rods? 
Will  the  rabbit  war  with  your  foemen — the  red  deer  horn 

them  for  hire? 
Your  kept  cock-pheasant  keep  you?— he  is  master  of  many 

a  shire. 

Arid,  aloof,  incurious,  unthinking,  unthanking,  gelt, 
Will  ye  loose  your  schools  to  flout  them  till  their  brow-beat 

columns  melt? 
Will  ye  pray  them  or  preach  them,  or  print  them,  or  ballot 

them  back  from  your  shore? 
Will  your  workmen  issue  a  mandate  to  bid  them  strike  no 

more? 
Will  ye  rise  and  dethrone  your  rulers?     (Because  ye  were  idle 

both? 

Pride  by  Insolence  chastened?     Indolence  purged  by  Sloth?) 
No  doubt  but  ye  are  the  People;  who  shall  make  you  afraid? 
Also  your  gods  are  many;  no  doubt  but  your  gods  shall  aid. 
Idols  of  greasy  altars  built  for  the  body's  ease; 
Proud  little  brazen  Baals  and  talking  fetishes; 
Teraphs  of  sept  and  party  and  wise  wood-pavement  gods — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  351 

These  shall  come  down  to  the  battle  and  snatch  you  from 

under  the  rods? 

From  the  gusty,  flickering  gun-roll  with  viewless  salvoes  rent, 
And  the  pitted  hail  of  the  bullets  that  tell  not  whence  they 

were  sent. 
When  ye  are  ringed  as  with  iron,  when  ye  are  scourged  as 

with  whips, 
When  the  meat  is  yet  in  your  belly,  and  the  boast  is  yet  on 

your  lips; 

When  ye  go  forth  at  morning  and  the  noon  beholds  you  broke, 
Ere  ye  lie  down  at  even,  your  remnant,  under  the  yoke? 


No  doubt  but  ye  are  the  People — absolute,  strong,  and  wise; 
Whatever  your  heart  has  desired  ye  have  not  withheld  from  your 

eyes. 
On  your  own  heads,  in  your  own  hands,  the  sin  and  the  saving 

lies  ! 


THE  VETERANS 

(Written  for  the  gathering  of  survivors  of  the  Indian  Mutiny,  Albert  Hall, 
1907.) 

"PO-DAY,  across  our  fathers'  graves, 

The  astonished  years  reveal 
The  remnant  of  that  desperate  host 
Which  cleansed  our  East  with  steel. 


Hail  and  farewell!     We  greet  you  here, 
With  tears  that  none  will  scorn — 

O  Keepers  of  the  House  of  old, 
Or  ever  we  were  born ! 


352  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

One  service  more  we  dare  to  ask — 
Pray  for  us,  heroes,  pray, 

That  when  Fate  lays  on  us  our  task 
We  do  not  shame  the  Day! 


THE  DYKES 

1902 

HAVE  no  heart  for  the  fishing,  we  have  no  hand  for 

the  oar — 

All  that  our  fathers  taught  us  of  old  pleases  us  now  no  more; 
All  that  our  own  hearts  bid  us  believe  we  doubt  where  we  do 

not  deny — 
There  is  no  proof  in  the  bread  we  eat  or  rest  in  the  toil  we  ply. 

Look  you,  our  foreshore  stretches  far  through  sea-gate,  dyke, 

and  groin — 
Made  land  all,  that  our  fathers  made,  where  the  flats  and  the 

fairway  join. 
They  forced  the  sea  a  sea-league  back.     They  died,  and  their 

work  stood  fast. 
We  were  born  to  peace  in  the  lee  of  the  dykes,  but  the  time 

of  our  peace  is  past. 

Far  orT,  the  full  tide  clambers  and  slips,  mouthing  and  testing 
all, 

Nipping  the  flanks  of  the  water-gates,  baying  along  the  wall; 

Turning  the  shingle,  returning  the  shingle,  changing  the  set 
of  the  sand  .  .  . 

We  are  too  far  from  the  beach,  men  say,  to  know  how  the  out- 
works stand. 

So  we  come  down,  uneasy,  to  look,  uneasily  pacing  the  beach. 
These  are  the  dykes  our  fathers  made:  we  have  never  known 
a  breach. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  353 

Time  and  again  has  the  gale  blown  by  and  we  were  not  afraid; 
Now  we  come  only  to  look  at  the  dykes — at  the  dykes  our 
fathers  made. 

O'er  the  marsh  where  the  homesteads  cower  apart  the  har- 
ried sunlight  flies, 

Shifts  and  considers,  wanes  and  recovers,  scatters  and  sickens 
and  dies — 

An  evil  ember  bedded  in  ash — a  spark  blown  west  by  the 
wind  .  .  . 

We  are  surrendered  to  night  and  the  sea — the  gale  and  the 
tide  behind! 

At  the  bridge  of  the  lower  saltings  the  cattle  gather  and  blare, 
Roused  by  the  feet  of  running  men,  dazed  by  the  lantern 

glare. 
Unbar  and  let  them  away  for  their  lives — the  levels  drown  as 

they  stand, 
Where  the  flood-wash  forces  the  sluices  aback  and  the  ditches 

deliver  inland. 

Ninefold  deep  to  the  top  of  the  dykes  the  galloping  breakers 

stride, 
And  their  overcarried  spray  is  a  sea — a  sea  on  the  landward 

side. 
Coming,  like  stallions  they  paw  with  their  hooves,  going  they 

snatch  with  their  teeth, 
Till  the  bents  and  the  furze  and  the  sand  are  dragged  out, 

and  the  old-time  hurdles  beneath. 

Bid  men  gather  fuel  for  fire,  the  tar,  the  oil  and  the  tow — 
Flame  we  shall  need,  not  smoke,  in  the  dark  if  the  riddled 

sea-banks  go. 
Bid  the  ringers  watch  in  the  tower  (who  knows  how  the  dawn 

shall  prove?) 
Each  with  his  rope  between  his  feet  and  the  trembling  bells 

above. 


354  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Now  we  can  only  wait  till  the  day,  wait  and  apportion  our 

shame. 
These  are  the  dykes  our  fathers  left,  but  we  would  not  look 

to  the  same. 
Time  and  again  were  we  warned  of  the  dykes,  time  and  again 

we  delayed: 
Now,  it  may  fall,  we  have  slain  our  sons,  as  our  fathers  we 

have  betrayed. 


Walking  along  the  wreck  of  the  dykes,  watching  the  work  of 

the  seas! 
These  were  the  dykes  our  fathers  made  to  our  great  profit 

and  ease. 
But  the  peace  is  gone  and  the  profit  is  gone,  with  the  old  sure 

days  withdrawn     .     .     . 
That  our  own  houses  show  as  strange  when  we  come  back  in 

the  dawn ! 


THE  DECLARATION  OF  LONDON 
JUNE   29,  1911 

("On  the  re-assembling  of  Parliament  after  the  Coronation,  the  Government 
have  no  intention  of  allowing  their  followers  to  vote  according  to  their 
convictions  on  the  Declaration  of  London,  but  insist  on  a  strictly  party 
vote." — Daily  Papers.) 

~\\f  E  were  all  one  heart  and  one  race 
When  the  Abbey  trumpets  blew. 
For  a  moment's  breathing-space 

We  had  forgotten  you. 
Now  you  return  to  your  honoured  place 

Panting  to  shame  us  anew. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  355 

We  have  walked  with  the  Ages  dead — 

With  our  Past  alive  and  ablaze. 
And  you  bid  us  pawn  our  honour  for  bread, 

This  day  of  all  the  days! 
And  you  cannot  wait  till  our  guests  are  sped, 

Or  last  week's  wreath  decays? 

The  light  is  still  in  our  eyes 

Of  Faith  and  Gentlehood, 
Of  Service  and  Sacrifice; 

And  it  does  not  match  our  mood, 
To  turn  so  soon  to  your  treacheries 

That  starve  our  land  of  her  food. 

Our  ears  still  carry  the  sound 

Of  our  once-Imperial  seas, 
Exultant  after  our  King  was  crowned, 

Beneath  the  sun  and  the  breeze. 
It  is  too  early  to  have  them  bound 

Or  sold  at  your  decrees. 

Wait  till  the  memory  goes, 

Wait  till  the  visions  fade, 
We  may  betray  in  time,  God  knows, 

But  we  would  not  have  it  said, 
When  you  make  report  to  our  scornful  foes, 

That  we  kissed  as  we  betrayed! 


THE  WAGE-SLAVES 

1902 

QH  GLORIOUS  are  the  guarded  heights 

Where  guardian  souls  abide — 
Self-exiled  from  our  gross  delights — 
Above,  beyond,  outside: 


356  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

An  ampler  arc  their  spirit  swings — 

Commands  a  juster  view — 
We  have  their  word  for  all  these  things, 

No  doubt  their  words  are  true. 

Yet  we,  the  bondslaves  of  our  day, 

Whom  dirt  and  danger  press — 
Co-heirs  of  insolence,  delay, 

And  leagued  unfaithfulness — 
Such  is  our  need  must  seek  indeed 

And,  having  found,  engage 
The  men  who  merely  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage. 

From  forge  and  farm  and  mine  and  bench, 

Deck,  altar,  outpost  lone — 
Mill,  school,  battalion,  counter,  trench, 

Rail,  senate,  sheepfold,  throne — 
Creation's  cry  goes  up  on  high 

From  age  to  cheated  age: 
"Send  us  the  men  who  do  the  work 

"For  which  they  draw  the  wage!" 


f: 


Words  cannot  help  nor  wit  achieve, 

Nor  e'en  the  all-gifted  fool, 
Too  weak  to  enter,  bide,  or  leave 

The  lists  he  cannot  rule. 
Beneath  the  sun  we  count  on  none 

Our  evil  to  assuage, 
Except  the  men  that  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage- 


When  through  the  Gates  of  Stress  and  Strain 

Comes  forth  the  vast  Event — 
The  simple,  sheer,  sufficing,  sane 

Result  of  labour  spent — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  357 

They  that  have  wrought  the  end  un thought 

Be  neither  saint  nor  sage, 
But  only  men  who  did  the  work 

For  which  they  drew  the  wage. 

Wherefore  to  these  the  Fates  shall  bend 

(And  all  old  idle  things — ) 
Wherefore  on  these  shall  Power  attend 

Beyond  the  grip  of  kings: 
Each  in  his  place,  by  right,  not  grace, 

Shall  rule  his  heritage — 
The  men  who  simply  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage. 

Not  such  as  scorn  the  loitering  street, 

Or  waste  to  earn  its  praise, 
Their  noontide's  unreturning  heat 

About  their  morning  ways; 
But  such  as  dower  each  mortgaged  hour 

Alike  with  clean  courage — 
Even  the  men  who  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage — 
Men,  like  to  Gods,  that  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage — 
Begin — continue — close  that  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage ! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  LATHES 

1918 

(Being  the  words  of  the  tune  hummed  at  her  lathe  by  Mrs.  L.Embsay,  widow.) 

*"jpHE  fans  and  the  beltings  they  roar  round  me. 

The  power  is  shaking  the  floor  round  me 
Till  the  lathes  pick  up  their  duty  and  the  midnight-shift 
takes  over. 

It  is  good  for  me  to  be  here! 


358  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Guns  in  Flanders — Flanders  guns  ! 
(I  had  a  man  that  worked  'em  once  /) 
Shells  for  guns  in  Flanders ,  Flanders  ! 
Shells  for  guns  in  Flanders,  Flanders  I 

Shells  for  guns  in  Flanders  !    Feed  the  guns  ! 


The  cranes  and  the  carriers  they  boom  over  me, 
The  bays  and  the  galleries  they  loom  over  me, 
With    their   quarter-mile   of  pillars   growing   little   in    the 
distance — 

It  is  good  for  me  to  be  here! 


The  Zeppelins  and  Gothas  they  raid  over  us. 
Our  lights  give  warning,  and  fade  over  us. 
(Seven  thousand  women  keeping  quiet  in  the  darkness!) 
Oh,  it's  good  for  me  to  be  here! 


The  roofs  and  the  buildings  they  grow  round  rne, 
Eating  up  the  fields  I  used  to  know  round  me; 
And  the  shed  that  I  began  in  is  a  sub-inspector's  office — 
So  long  have  I  been  here! 


I've  seen  six  hundred  mornings  make  our  lamps  grow  dim, 
Through  the  bit  that  isn't  painted  round  our  sky-light  rim, 
And  the  sunshine  through  the  window  slope  according  to 
the  seasons, 

Twice  since  I've  been  here. 


The  trains  on  the  sidings  they  call  to  us 
With  the  hundred  thousand  blanks  that  they  haul  to  us; 
And  we  send  'em  what  we've  finished,  and   they  take  it 
where  it's  wanted, 

For  that  is  why  we  are  here ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  359 

Man's  hate  passes  as  his  love  will  pass. 
God  made  woman  what  she  always  was. 
Them  that  bear  the  burden  they  will  never  grant  forgiveness 
So  long  as  they  are  here! 


Once  I  was  a  woman,  but  that's  by  with  me. 
All  I  loved  and  looked  for,  it  must  die  with  me; 
But  the  Lord  has  left  me  over  for  a  servant  of  the  Judgment, 
And  I  serve  His  Judgments  here! 


Guns  in  Flanders — Flanders  guns  ! 
(I  had  a  son  that  worked  'em  once  /) 
S  hells  for  guns  in  Flanders  y  Flanders  ! 
Shells  for  guns  in  Flanders,  Flanders  ! 

Shells  for  guns  in  Flanders  !    Feed  the  guns  I 


RIMMON 

i  903 

FJULY  with  knees  that  feign  to  quakt 

Bent  head  and  shaded  brow, — 
Yet  once  again,  for  my  father's  sake, 
In  Rimmon's  House  I  bow. 


The  curtains  part,  the  trumpet  blares, 
And  the  eunuchs  howl  aloud; 

And  the  gilt,  swag-bellied  idol  glares 
Insolent  over  the  crowd. 


36o  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"  This  is  Rimmon,  Lord  of  the  Earth — 
"Fear  Him  and  bow  the  knee!  " 

And  I  watch  my  comrades  hide  their  mirth 
That  rode  to  the  wars  with  me. 

For  we  remember  the  sun  and  the  sand 
And  the  rocks  whereon  we  trod, 

Ere  we  came  to  a  scorched  and  a  scornful  land 
That  did  not  know  our  God; 


As  we  remember  the  sacrifice 
Dead  men  an  hundred  laid — 

Slain  while  they  served  His  mysteries, 
And  that  He  would  not  aid. 


Not  though  we  gashed  ourselves  and  wept, 
For  the  high-priest  bade  us  wait; 

Saying  He  went  on  a  journey  or  slept, 
Or  was  drunk  or  had  taken  a  mate. 


(Praise  ye  Rimmon,  King  of  Kings, 

Who  ruleth  Earth  and  Sky! 
And  again  I  bow  as  the  censer  swings 

And  the  God  Enthroned  goes  by.) 

Ay,  we  remember  His  sacred  ark 
And  the  virtuous  men  that  knelt 

To  the  dark  and  the  hush  behind  the  dark 
Wherein  we  dreamed  He  dwelt; 

Until  we  entered  to  hale  Him  out, 
And  found  no  more  than  an  old 

Uncleanly  image  girded  about 
The  loins  with  scarlet  and  gold. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  361 

Him  we  o'erset  with  the  butts  of  our  spears — 

Him  and  his  vast  designs — 
To  be  the  scorn  of  our  muleteers 

And  the  jest  of  our  halted  lines. 


By  the  picket-pins  that  the  dogs  defile, 
In  the  dung  and  the  dust  He  lay, 

Till  the  priests  ran  and  chattered  awhile 
And  wiped  Him  and  took  Him  away. 


Hushing  the  matter  before  it  was  known, 
They  returned  to  our  fathers  afar, 

And  hastily  set  Him  afresh  on  His  throne 
Because  he  had  won  us  the  war. 


Wherefore  with  knees  that  feign  to  quake 
Bent  head  and  shaded  brow — 

To  this  dead  dog,  for  my  father's  sake, 
In  Rimmon's  House  I  bow! 


"THE  CITY  OF  BRASS" 


i  909 

Here  was  a  people  whom  after  their  works  thou  shalt  see  wept  over  for  their 
lost  dominion:  and  in  this  palace  is  the  last  information  respecting  lords  col- 
lected in  the  dust. 

The  Arabian  Nights. 

TN  A  land  that  the  sand  overlays — the  ways  to  her  gates 

are  untrod — 

A  multitude  ended  their  days  whose  fates  were  made  splendid 
by  God, 


362  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Till  they  grew  drunk  and  were  smitten  with  madness  and  went 

to  their  fall, 
And  of  these  is  a  story  written:  but  Allah  Alone  knoweth  all ! 


When  the  wine  stirred  in  their  heart  their  bosoms  dilated, 
They  rose  to  suppose  themselves  kings  over  all  things 

created — 

To  decree  a. new  earth  at  a  birth  without  labour  or  sorrow — 
To  declare:  "We  prepare  it  to-day  and  inherit  to-morrow." 
They  chose  themselves  prophets  and  priests  of  minute 

understanding, 

Men  swift  to  see  done,  and  outrun,  their  extremest  com- 
manding— 
Of  the  tribe  which  describe  with  a  jibe  the  perversions  of 

Justice — 
Panders  avowed  to  the  crowd  whatsoever  its  lust  is. 


Swiftly  these  pulled  down  the  walls  that  their  fathers  had 

made  them — 

The  impregnable  ramparts  of  old,  they  razed  and  relaid  them 
As  playgrounds  of  pleasure  and  leisure  with  limitless  entries, 
And  havens  of  rest  for  the  wastrels  where  once  walked  the 

sentries; 
And  because  there  was  need  of  more  pay  for  the  shouters  and 

marchers, 
They  disbanded  in  face  of  their  foemen  their  yeomen  and 

archers. 


They  replied  to  their  well-wishers'  fears — to  their  enemies' 
laughter, 

Saying:  "Peace!.  We  have  fashioned  a  God  WThich  shall 
save  us  hereafter. 

We  ascribe  all  dominion  to  man  in  his  factions  conferring, 

And  have  given  to  numbers  the  Name  of  the  Wisdom  un- 
erring." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  363 

They  said:     "Who  has  hate  in  his  soul?     Who  has  envied  his 

neighbour? 

Let  him  arise  and  control  both  that  man  and  his  labour." 
They  said:  "Who  is  eaten  by  sloth?     Whose  unthrift  has 

destroyed  him? 
He  shall  levy  a  tribute  from  all  because  none  have  employed 

him." 
They  said:     "Who   hath    toiled,    who    hath    striven,    and 

gathered  possession? 

Let  him  be  spoiled.     He  hath  given  full  proof  of  transgres- 
sion." 
They  said:  "Who  is  irked  by  the  Law?     Though  we  may  not 

remove  /'/, 

If  he  lend  us  his  aid  in  this  raid,  we  will  set  him  above  it !" 
So  the  robber  did  judgment  again  upon  such  as  displeased 

him, 
The  slayer,  too,  boasted  his  slain,  and  the  judges  released 

him. 


As  for  their  kinsmen  far  off,  on  the  skirts  of  the  nation, 
They  harried  all  earth  to  make  sure  none  escaped  reprobation, 
They  awakened  unrest  for  a  jest  in  their  newly-won  borders, 
And  jeered  at  the  blood  of  their  brethren  betrayed  by  their 

orders. 

They  instructed  the  ruled  to  rebel,  their  rulers  to  aid  them; 
And,  since  such  as  obeyed  them  not  fell,  their  Viceroys  obeyed 

them. 
When  the  riotous  set  them  at  naught  they  said:     "Praise  the 

upheaval! 
For  the  show  and  the  word  and  the  thought  of  Dominion  is 

evil!" 

They  unwound  and  flung  from  them  with  rage,  as  a  rag  that 

defiled  them 
The  imperial  gains  of  the  age  which  their  forefathers  piled 

them. 


364  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  ran  panting  in  haste  to  lay  waste  and  embitter  for  ever 
The  wellsprings  of  Wisdom  and  Strength  which  are  Faith 

and  Endeavour. 
They  nosed  out  and  digged  up  and  dragged  forth  and  exposed 

to  derision 
All  doctrine  of  purpose  and  worth  and  restraint  and  prevision : 

And  it  ceased,  and  God  granted  them  all  things  for  which  they 

had  striven, 
And  the  heart  of  a  beast  in  the  place  of  a  man's  heart  was 

given.     .     .     . 


When  they  were  fullest  of  wine  and  most  flagrant  in  error, 

Out  of  the  sea  rose  a  sign — out  of  Heaven  a  terror. 

Then  they  saw,  then  they  heard,  then  they  knew — for  none 

troubled  to  hide  it, 

An  host  had  prepared  theirdestruction,  but  still  they  denied  it. 
They  denied  what  they  dared  not  abide  if  it  came  to  the  trial, 
But  the  Sword  that  was  forged  while  they  lied  did  not  heed 

their  denial. 
It  drove  home,  and  no  time  was  allowed  to  the  crowd  that  was 

driven. 
The  preposterous-minded  were  cowed — they  thought  time 

would  be  given. 

There  was  no  need  of  a  steed  nor  a  lance  to  pursue  them; 
It  was  decreed  their  own  deed,  and  not  chance,  should  undo 

them. 

The  tares  they  had  laughingly  sown  were  ripe  to  the  reaping. 
The  trust  they  had  leagued  to  disown  was  removed  from  their 

keeping. 

The  eaters  of  other  men's  bread,  the  exempted  from  hardship, 
The  excusers  of  impotence  fled,  abdicating  their  wardship, 
For  the  hate  they  had  taught  through  the  State  brought  the 

State  no  defender, 

And  it  passed  from  the  roll  of  the  Nations  in  headlong  sur- 
render! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  365 

THE  HYENAS 

A  FTER  the  burial-parties  leave 

And  the  baffled  kites  have  fled; 
The  wise  hyaenas  come  out  at  eve 
To  take  account  of  our  dead. 

How  he  died  and  why  he  died 

Troubles  them  not  a  whit. 
They  snout  the  bushes  and  stones  aside 

And  dig  till  they  come  to  it. 

They  are  only  resolute  they  shall  eat 
That  they  and  their  mates  may  thrive, 

And  they  know  that  the  dead  are  safer  meat 
Than  the  weakest  thing  alive. 

(For  a  goat  may  butt,  and  a  worm  may  sting, 

And  a  child  will  sometimes  stand; 
But  a  poor  dead  soldier  of  the  King 

Can  never  lift  a  hand.) 

They  whoop  and  halloo  and  scatter  the  dirt 

Until  their  tushes  white 
Take  good  hold  in  the  army  shirt, 

And  tug  the  corpse  to  light, 

And  the  pitiful  face  is  shewn  again 

For  an  instant  ere  they  close; 
But  it  is  not  discovered  to  living  men — 

Only  to  God  and  to'  those 

Who,  being  soulless,  are  free  from  shame, 

Whatever  meat  they  may  find. 
Nor  do  they  defile  the  dead  man's  name — 

That  is  reserved  for  his  kind. 


366  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  REFORMERS 

1901 


in  the  camp  his  victory  lies 
Or  triumph  in  the  market-place, 
Who  is  his  Nation's  sacrifice 

To  turn  the  judgment  from  his  race. 

Happy  is  he  who,  bred  and  taught 
By  sleek,  sufficing  Circumstance  — 

Whose  Gospel  was  the  apparelled  thought, 
Whose  Gods  were  Luxury  and  Chance  — 

Sees,  on  the  threshold  of  his  days, 
The  old  life  shrivel  like  a  scroll, 

And  to  unheralded  dismays 
Submits  his  body  and  his  soul; 

The  fatted  shows  wherein  he  stood 
Foregoing,  and  the  idiot  pride, 

That  he  may  prove  with  his  own  blood 
All  that  his  easy  sires  denied  — 

Ultimate  issues,  primal  springs, 
Demands,  abasements,  penalties  — 

The  imperishable  plinth  of  things 

Seen  and  unseen,  that  touch  our  peace. 

For,  though  ensnaring  ritual  dim 
His  vision  through  the  after-years, 

Yet  virtue  shall  go  out  of  him  — 
Example  profiting  his  peers. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  367 

With  great  things  charged  he  shall  not  hold 

Aloof  till  great  occasion  rise, 
But  serve,  full-harnessed,  as  of  old, 

The  Days  that  are  the  Destinies. 

He  shall  forswear  and  put  away 
The  idols  of  his  sheltered  house; 

And  to  Necessity  shall  pay 

Unflinching  tribute  of  his  vows. 

He  shall  not  plead  another's  act, 

Nor  bind  him  in  another's  oath 
To  weigh  the  Word  above  the  Fact, 

Or  make  or  take  excuse  for  sloth. 

The  yoke  he  bore  shall  press  him  still, 

And,  long-ingrained  effort  goad 
To  find,  to  fashion,  and  fulfil 

The  cleaner  life,  the  sterner  code. 

Not  in  the  camp  his  victory  lies — 

The  world  (unheeding  his  return) 
Shall  see  it  in  his  children's  eyes 

And  from  his  grandson's  lips  shall  learn  ! 


THE  COVENANT 

1914 

\\/rE  thought  we  ranked  above  the  chance  of  ill. 

Others  might  fall,  not  we,  for  we  were  wise 
Merchants  in  freedom.     So,  of  our  free-will 

We  let  our  servants  drug  our  strength  with  lies. 


368  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  pleasure  and  the  poison  had  its  way 

On  us  as  on  the  meanest,  till  we  learned 
That  he  who  lies  will  steal,  who  steals  will  slay. 

Neither  God's  judgment  nor  man's  heart  was  turned. 

Yet  there  remains  His  Mercy — to  be  sought 

Through  wrath  and  peril  till  we  cleanse  the  wrong 

By  that  last  right  which  our  forefathers  claimed 

When  their  Law  failed  them  and  its  stewards  were  bought. 

This  is  our  cause.     God  help  us,  and  make  strong 

Our  will  to  meet  Him  later,  unashamed! 


THE  OLD  MEN 
1902 


"T^HIS  is  our  lot  if  we  live  so  long  and  labour  unto  the  end  — 
That  we  outlive  the  impatient  years  and  the  much  too 


•patient  friend: 
And  because  we  know  we  have  breath  in  our  mouth  and  think 

we  have  thoughts  in  our  head, 
We  shall  assume  that  we  are  alive,  whereas  we  are  really  dead. 

We  shall  not  acknowledge  that  old  stars  fade  or  brighter 

planets  arise 
(That  the  sere  bush  buds  or  the  desert  blooms  or  the  ancient 

well-head  dries), 
Or  any  new  compass  wherewith  new  men  adventure  'neath 

new  skies. 

We  shall  lift  up  the  ropes  that  constrained  our  youth,  to  bind 

on  our  children's  hands; 
We  shall  call  to  the  water  below  the  bridges  to  return  and 

replenish  our  lands; 
We  shall   harness  horses   (Death's  own   pale  horses)   and 

scholarly  plough  the  sands. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  369 

We  shall  lie  down  in  the  eye  of  the  sun  for  lack  of  a  light  on 

our  way — 
We  shall  rise  up  when  the  day  is  done  and  chirrup,  "  Behold, 

it  is  day!" 
We  shall  abide  till  the  battle  is  won  ere  we  amble  into  the 

fray. 

We  shall  peck  out  and  discuss  and  dissect,  and  evert  and  ex- 
trude to  our  mind, 

The  flaccid  tissues  of  long-dead  issues  offensive  to  God  and 
mankind — 

(Precisely  like  vultures  over  an  ox  that  the  Army  has  left 
behind). 

"We  shall  make  walk  preposterous  ghosts  of  the  glories  we  once 
created — 

Immodestly  smearing  from  muddled  palettes  amazing  pig- 
ments mismated — 

And  our  friends  will  weep  when  we  ask  them  with  boasts  if 
our  natural  force  be  abated. 


The  Lamp  of  our  Youth  will  be  utterly  out,  but  we  shall 

subsist  on  the  smell  of  it; 
And  whatever  we  do,  we  shall  fold  our  hands  and  suck  our 

gums  and  think  well  of  it. 
Yes,  we  shall  be  perfectly  pleased  with  our  work,  and  that 

is  the  Perfectest  Hell  of  it! 

This  is  our  lot  if  we  live  so  long  and  listen  to  those  who  love 

us — 
That  we  are  shunned  by  the  people  about  and  shamed  by  the 

Powers  above  us. 
Wherefore  be  free  of  your  harness  betimes;  but,  being  free,  be 

assured. 
That  he  who  hath  not  endured  to  the  death,  from  his  birth  he 

hath  never  endured  I 


370  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  OUTLAWS 

1914 

^HROUGH  learned  and  laborious  years 

They  set  themselves  to  find 
Fresh  terrors  and  undreamed-of  fears 
To  heap  upon  mankind. 

All  that  they  drew  from  Heaven  above 
Or  digged  from  earth  beneath, 

They  laid  into  their  treasure- trove 
And  arsenals  of  death: 


While,  for  well-weighed  advantage  sake, 

Ruler  and  ruled  alike 
Built  up  the  faith  they  meant  to  break 

When  the  fit  hour  should  strike. 


They  traded  with  the  careless  earth, 

And  good  return  it  gave: 
They  plotted  by  their  neighbour's  hearth 

The  means  to  make  him  slave. 


When  all  was  ready  to  their  hand 
They  loosed  their  hidden  sword, 

And  utterly  laid  waste  a  land 
Their  oath  was  pledged  to  guard. 

Coldly  they  went  about  to  raise 
To  life  and  make  more  dread 

Abominations  of  old  days, 
That  men  believed  were  dead. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  371 

They  paid  the  price  to  reach  their  goal 

Across  a  world  in  flame; 
But  their  own  hate  slew  their  own  soul 

Before  that  victory  came. 


THE  WHITE  MAN'S  BURDEN 
1899 


up  the  White  Man's  burden- 
Send  forth  the  best  ye  breed  — 
Go  bind  your  sons  to  exile 

To  serve  your  captives'  need; 
To  wait  in  heavy  harness, 

On  fluttered  folk  and  wild  — 
Your  new-caught,  sullen  peoples, 
Half-devil  and  half-child. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  Burden  — 

In  patience  to  abide, 
To  veil  the  threat  of  terror 

And  check  the  show  of  pride; 
By  open  speech  and  simple, 

An  hundred  times  made  plain, 
To  seek  another's  profit, 

And  work  another's  gain. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 

The  savage  wars  of  peace  — 
Fill  full  the  mouth  of  Famine 

And  bid  the  sickness  cease; 
And  when  your  goal  is  nearest 

The  end  for  others  sought, 
Watch  Sloth  and  heathen  Folly 

Bring  all  your  hope  to  nought. 


372  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden — 

No  tawdry  rule  of  kings, 
But  toil  of  serf  and  sweeper — 

The  tale  of  common  things. 
The  ports  ye  shall  not  enter, 

The  roads  ye  shall  not  tread, 
Go  make  them  with  your  living, 

And  mark  them  with  your  dead. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden — 

And  reap  his  old  reward: 
The  blame  of  those  ye  better, 

The  hate  of  those  ye  guard — 
The  cry  of  hosts  ye  humour 

(Ah,  slowly!)  toward  the  light: — 
"Why  brought  ye  us  from  bondage, 

"Our  loved  Egyptian  night?" 


Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden — 

Ye  dare  not  stoop  to  less — 
Nor  call  too  loud  on  Freedom 

To  cloak  your  weariness; 
By  all  ye  cry  or  whisper, 

By  all  ye  leave  or  do, 
The  silent,  sullen  peoples 

Shall  weigh  your  Gods  and  you. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden — 

Have  done  with  childish  days — 
The  lightly  proffered  laurel, 

The  easy,  ungrudged  praise. 
Comes  now,  to  search  your  manhood 

Through  all  the  thankless  years, 
Cold,  edged  with  dear-bought  wisdom, 

The  judgment  of  your  peers! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  373 

HYMN  BEFORE  ACTION 

1896 

'Y'HE  earth  is  full  of  anger, 

The  seas  are  dark  with  wrath, 
The  Nations  in  their  harness 

Go  up  against  our  path: 
Ere  yet  we  loose  the  legions — 

Ere  yet  we  draw  the  blade, 
Jehovah  of  the  Thunders, 

Lord  God  of  Battles,  aid! 

High  lust  and  forward  bearing, 

Proud  heart,  rebellious  brow — 
Deaf  ear  and  soul  uncaring, 

We  seek  Thy  mercy  now! 
The  sinner  that  forswore  Thee, 

The  fool  that  passed  Thee  by, 
Our  times  are  known  before  Thee — 

Lord,  grant  us  strength  to  die! 

For  those  who  kneel  beside  us 

At  altars  not  Thine  own, 
Who  lack  the  lights  that  guide  us, 

Lord,  let  their  faith  atone! 
If  wrong  we  did  to  call  them, 

By  honour  bound  they  came; 
Let  not  Thy  Wrath  befall  them, 

But  deal  to  us  the  blame. 

From  panic,  pride,  and  terror, 

Revenge  that  knows  no  rein, 
Light  haste  and  lawless  error, 

Protect  us  yet  again. 


374  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Cloke  Thou  our  undeserving, 

Make  firm  the  shuddering  breath, 

In  silence  and  unswerving 
To  taste  Thy  lesser  death ! 

Ah,  Mary  pierced  with  sorrow, 

Remember,  reach  and  save 
The  soul  that  comes  to-morrow 

Before  the  God  that  gave! 
Since  each  was  born  of  woman, 

For  each  at  utter  need — 
True  comrade  and  true  foeman — 

Madonna,  intercede! 

E'en  now  their  vanguard  gathers, 

E'en  now  we  face  the  fray — 
As  Thou  didst  help  our  fathers, 

Help  Thou  our  host  to-day. 
Fulfilled  of  signs  and  wonders, 

In  life,  in  death  made  clear — 
Jehovah  of  the  Thunders, 

Lord  God  of  Battles,  hear! 


A  SONG  AT  COCK-CROW 

1918 

"I lie  autem  iterum  negavit." 

^HE  first  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 

He  shrank  from  the  cudgel,  the  scourge  and  the  cord, 
But  followed  far  off  to  see  what  they  would  do, 
Till  the  cock  crew — till  the  cock  crew — 
After  Gethsemane,  till  the  cock  crew! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  375 

The  first  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 

'Twas  only  a  maid  in  the  palace  who  heard, 

As  he  sat  by  the  fire  and  warmed  himself  through. 

Then  the  cock  crew!    Then  the  cock  crew! 

("Thou  also  art  one  of  them.")     Then  the  cock  crew! 

The  first  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 

He  had  neither  the  Throne,  nor  the  Keys  nor  the  Sword — 

A  poor  silly  fisherman,  what  could  he  do, 

When  the  cock  crew — when  the  cock  crew — 

But  weep  for  his  wickedness  when  the  cock  crew? 


The  next  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 

He  was  Fisher  of  Men,  as  foretold  by  the  Word, 

With  the  Crown  on  his  brow  and  the  Cross  on  his  shoe, 

When  the  cock  crew — when  the  cock  crew — 

In  Flanders  and  Picardy  when  the  cock  crew! 

The  next  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 

'Twas  Mary  the  Mother  in  Heaven  Who  heard, 

And  She  grieved  for  the  maidens  and  wives  that  they  slew 

When  the  cock  crew — when  the  cock  crew — 

At  Tirmonde  and  Aerschott  when  the  cock  crew! 

The  next  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 
The  Babe  in  the  Manger  awakened  and  stirred, 
And  He  stretched  out  His  arms  for  the  playmates 

He  knew — 

When  the  cock  crew — when  the  cock  crew — 
But  the  waters  had  covered  them  when  the  cock  crew! 

The  next  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 
'Twas  Earth  in  her  agony  waited  his  word, 
But  he  sat  by  the  fire  and  naught  would  he  do, 
Though  the  cock  crew — though  the  cock  crew — 
Over  all  Christendom,  though  the  cock  crew  ! 


376  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  last  time  that  Peter  denidd  his  Lord, 
The  Father  took  from  him  the  Keys  and  the  Sword, 
And  the  Mother  and  Babe  brake  his  Kingdom  in  two, 
When  the  cock  crew — when  the  cock  crew — 
(Because  of  his  wickedness)  when  the  cock  crew! 


THE  QUESTION 

1916 

gRETHREN,  how  shall  it  fare  with  me 

When  the  war  is  laid  aside, 
If  it  be  proven  that  I  am  he 
For  whom  a  world  has  died  ? 

If  it  be  proven  that  all  my  good, 

And  the  greater  good  I  will  make, 
Were  purchased  me  by  a  multitude 

Who  suffered  for  my  sake  ? 

That  I  was  delivered  by  mere  mankind 

Vowed  to  one  sacrifice, 
And  not,  as  I  hold  them,  battle-blind, 

But  dying  with  open  eyes? 

That  they  did  not  ask  me  to  draw  the  sword 
When  they  stood  to  endure  their  lot — 

That  they  only  looked  to  me  for  a  word, 
And  I  answered  I  knew  them  not? 

If  it  be  found,  when  the  battle  clears, 

Their  death  has  set  me  free, 
Then  how  shall  I  live  with  myself  through  the  years 

Which  they  have  bought  for  me? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  377 

Brethren,  how  must  it  fare  with  me, 

Or  how  am  I  justified, 
If  it  be  proven  that  I  am  he 

For  whom  mankind  has  died — 
If  it  be  proven  that  I  am  he 

Who,  being  questioned,  denied  ? 


RECESSIONAL 

i  897 

("JOD  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old, 

Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle-line, 
Beneath  whose  awful  Hand  we  hold 

Dominion  over  palm  and  pine — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 


The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies; 

The  Captains  and  the  Kings  depart: 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice, 

An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart. 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 


Far-called,  our  navies  melt  away; 

On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire: 
Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 

Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre! 
Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 


378  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 
Wild  tongues  that  have  not  Thee  in  awe, 

Such  boastings  as  the  Gentiles  use, 
Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard, 

All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 
And  guarding,  calls  not  Thee  to  guard, 

For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word — 

Thy  mercy  on  Thy  People,  Lord! 


"FOR  ALL  WE  HAVE  AND  ARE" 

1914 

pOR  all  we  have  and  are, 

For  all  our  children's  fate, 

Stand  up  and  take  the  war. 

The  Hun  is  at  the  gate! 

Our  world  has  passed  away 

In  wantonness  o'erthrown. 

There  is  nothing  left  to-day 

But  steel  and  fire  and  stone! 

Though  all  we  knew  depart, 
The  old  Commandments  stand: — 
"In  courage  keep  your  heart, 
In  strength  lift  up  your  hand." 

Once  more  we  hear  the  word 
That  sickened  earth  of  old: — 
"No  law  except  the  Sword 
Unsheathed  and  uncontrolled." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  379 

Once  more  it  knits  mankind, 
Once  more  the  nations  go 
To  meet  and  break  and  bind 
A  crazed  and  driven  foe. 

Comfort,  content,  delight, 

The  ages'  slow-bought  gain, 

They  shrivelled  in  a  night. 

Only  ourselves  remain 

To  face  the  naked  days 

In  silent  fortitude, 

Through  perils  and  dismays 

Renev/ed  and  re-renewed. 

Though  all  we  made  depart, 
The  old  Commandments  stand: — 
"In  patience  keep  your  heart, 
In  strength  lift  up  your  hand." 

No  easy  hope  or  lies 
Shall  bring  us  to  our  goal, 
But  iron  sacrifice 
Of  body,  will,  and  soul. 
There  is  but  one  task  for  all — 
One  life  for  each  to  give. 
What  stands  if  Freedom  fall? 
Who  dies  if  England  live? 


THE  THREE-DECKER 

1894 

"  The  three-volume  novel  is  extinct," 

JPULL  thirty  foot  she  towered  from  waterline  to  rail. 

It  coct  a  watch  to  steer  her,  and  a  week  to  shorten  sail; 
But,  spite  all  modern  notions,  I've  found  her  first  and  best — 
The  only  certain  packet  for  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 


380  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Fair  held  the  breeze  behind  us — 'twas  warm  with  lovers' 
prayers. 

We'd  stolen  wills  for  ballast  and  a  crew  of  missing  heirs. 

They  shipped  as  Able  Bastards  till  the  Wicked  Nurse  con- 
fessed, 

And  they  worked  the  old  three-decker  to  the  Islands  of  the 
Blest. 

By  ways  no  gaze  could  follow,  a  course  unspoiled  of  cook, 
Per  Fancy,  fleetest  in  man,  our  titled  berths  we  took 
With  maids  of  matchless  beauty  and  parentage  unguessed, 
And  a  Church  of  England  parson  for  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

We  asked  no  social  questions — we  pumped  no  hidden  shame — 
We  never  talked  obstetrics  when  the  Little  Stranger  came: 
We  left  the  Lord  in  Heaven,  we  left  the  fiends  in  Hell. 
We  weren't  exactly  Yussufs,  but — Zuleika  didn't  tell. 

No  moral  doubt  assailed  us,  so  when  the  port  we  neared, 
The  villain  had  his  flogging  at  the  gangway,  and  we  cheered. 
'Twas  fiddle  in  the  foc's'le — 'twas  garlands  on  the  mast, 
For  every  one  got  married,  and  I  went  ashore  at  last. 

I  left  'em  all  in  couples  akissing  on  the  decks. 

I  left  the  lovers  loving  and  the  parents  signing  cheques. 

In  endless  English  comfort,  by  county-folk  caressed, 

I  left  the  old  three-decker  at  the  Islands  of  the  Blest!  .  .  . 

That  route  is  barred  to  steamers:  you'll  never  lift  again 
Our  purple-painted  headlands  or  the  lordly  keeps  of  Spain. 
They're  just  beyond  your  skyline,  howe'er  so  far  you  cruise 
In  a  ram-you-damn-you  liner  with  a  brace  of  bucking  screws. 

Swing  round  your  aching  search-light — 'twill  show  no  haven's 

peace. 

Ay,  blow  your  shrieking  sirens  at  the  deaf,  grey-bearded  seas! 
Boom  out  the  dripping  oil-bags  to  skin  the  deep's  unrest — 
And  you  aren't  one  knot  the  nearer  to  the  Islands  of  the  Blest! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  381 

But  when  you're  threshing,  crippled,  with  broken  bridge  and 

rail, 

At  a  drogue  of  dead  convictions  to  hold  you  head  to  gale, 
Calm  as  the  Flying  Dutchman,  from  truck  to  taffrail  dressed, 
You'll  see  the  old  three-decker  for  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

You'll  see  her  tiering  canvas  in  sheeted  silver  spread; 
You'll  hear  the  long-drawn  thunder  'neath  her  leaping  figure- 
head; 

While  far,  so  far  above  you,  her  tall  poop-lanterns  shine 
Unvexed  by  wind  or  weather  like  the  candles  round  a  shrine! 

Hull  down — hull  down  and  under — she  dwindles  to  a  speck, 
With  noise  of  pleasant  music  and  dancing  on  her  deck. 
All's  well — all's  well  aboard  her — she's  left  you  far  behind, 
With  a  scent  of  old-world  roses  through  the  fog  that  ties  you 
blind. 

Her  crews  are  babes  or  madmen  ?     Her  port  is  all  to  make  ? 
You're  manned  by  Truth  and  Science,  and  you  steam  for 

steaming's  sake? 

Well,  tinker  up  your  engines — you  know  your  business  best — 
Shis  taking  tired  people  to  the  Islands  of  the  Blest! 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  THREE  CAPTAINS 

1890 

[This  ballad  appears  to  refer  to  one  of  the  exploits  of  the  notorious  Paul  Jones, 
an  American  pirate.     It  is  founded  on  fact.] 

.    .     .      AT  THE  close  of  a  winter  day, 

Their  anchors  down,  by  London   town,  the 

Three  Great  Captains  lay; 

And  one  was  Admiral  of  the  North  from  Solway  Firth  to  Skye, 
And  one  was  Lord  of  the  Wessex  coast  and  all  the  lands 
thereby, 


382  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  one  was  Master  of  the  Thames  from  Limehouse  to  Black- 
wall, 

And  he  was  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet — the  bravest  of  them  all. 
Their  good  guns  guarded  their  great  grey  sides  that  were  thirty 

foot  in  the  sheer, 

When  there  came  a  certain  trading  brig  with  news  of  a  priva- 
teer. 
Her  rigging  was  rough  with  the  clotted  drift  that  drives  in  a 

Northern  breeze, 
Her  sides  were  clogged  with  the  lazy  weed  that  spawns  in  the 

Eastern  seas. 

Light  she  rode  in  the  rude  tide-rip,  to  left  and  right  she  rolled, 
And  the  skipper  sat  on  the  scuttle-butt  and  stared  at  an  empty 

hold. 
" I  ha'  paid  Port  dues  for  your  Law,"  quoth  he,  "and  where  is 

the  Law  ye  boast 
"If  I  sail  unscathed  from  a  heathen  port  to  be  robbed  on  a 

Christian  coast? 
"Ye  have  smoked  the  hives  of  the  Laccadives  as  we  burn  the 

lice  in  a  bunk, 
"We  tack  not  now  for  a  Gallang  prow  or  a  plunging  Pei-ho 

junk; 
"I  had  no  fear  but  the  seas  were  clear  as  far  as  a  sail  might 

fare 
"Till  I  met  with  a  lime-washed  Yankee  brig  that  rode  off 

Finisterre. 
"There  were  canvas  blinds  to  his  bow-gun  ports  to  screen  the 

weight  he  bore, 
"And  the  signals  ran  for  a  merchantman  from  Sandy  Hook 

to  the  Nore. 

"He  would  not  fly  the  Rovers'  flag — the  bloody  or  the  black, 
"But  now  he  floated  the  Gridiron  and  now  he  flaunted  the 

Jack. 
"He  spoke  of  the  Law  as  he  crimped  my  crew — he  swore 

it  was  only  a  loan; 
"But  when  I  would  ask  for  my  own  again,  he  swore  it  was 

none  of  my  own. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  383 

"He  has  taken  my  little  parrakeets  that  nest  beneath  the  Line, 
"He  has  stripped  my  rails  of  the  shaddock-frails  and  the 

green  unripened  pine. 
"He  has  taken  my  bale  of  dammer  and  spice  I  won  beyond 

the  seas, 
"He  has  taken  my  grinning  heathen  gods — and  what  should 

he  want  o'  these? 
"My  foremast  would  not  mend  his  boom,  my  deck-house 

patch  his  boats; 
"He  has  whittled  the  two,  this  Yank  Yahoo,  to  peddle  for 

shoe-peg  oats. 
"I  could  not  fight  for  the  failing  light  and  a  rough  beam-sea 

beside, 
"  But  I  hulled  him  once  for  a  clumsy  crimp  and  twice  because 

he  lied. 
"Had  I  had  guns  (as  I  had  goods)  to  work  my  Christian 

harm, 
"I  had  run  him  up  from  his  quarter-deck  to  trade  with  his 

own  yard-arm; 
"I  had  nailed  his  ears  to  my  capstan-head,  and  ripped  them 

off  with  a  saw, 
"And  soused  them  in  the  bilgewater,  and  served  them  to  him 

raw; 

"I  had  flung  him  blind  in  a  rudderless  boat  to  rot  In  the  rock- 
ing dark, 
"I  had  towed  him  aft  of  his  own  craft,  a  bait  for  his  brother 

shark; 
"  I  had  lapped  him  round  with  cocoa-husk,  and  drenched  him 

with  the  oil, 
"And  lashed  him  fast  to  his  own  mast  to  blaze  above  my 

spoil; 
"I  had  stripped  his  hide  for  my  hammock-side,  and  tasselled 

his  beard  in  the  mesh, 
"And  spitted  his  crew  on  the  live  bamboo  that  grows  through 

the  gangrened  flesh; 
"I  had  hove  him  down  by  the  mangroves  brown,  where  the 

mud-reef  sucks  and  draws, 


384  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"  Moored  by  the  heel  to  his  own  keel  to  wait  for  the  land-crab's 

claws. 
"He  is  lazar  within  and  lime  without;  ye  can  nose  him  far 

enow, 
"For  he  carries  the  taint  of  a  musky  ship — the  reek  of  the 

slaver's  dhow." 
The  skipper  looked  at  the  tiering  guns  and  the  bulwarks  tall 

and  cold, 
And  the  Captains  Three  full  courteously  peered  down  at  the 

gutted  hold, 
And  the  Captains  Three  called  courteously  from  deck  to 

scuttle-butt: — 
"Good  Sir,  we  ha'  dealt  with  that  merchantman  or  ever  your 

teeth  were  cut. 
"Your  words  be  words  of  a  lawless  race,  and  the  Law  it 

standeth  thus: 
"He  comes  of  a  race  that  have  never  a  Law,  and  he  never  has 

boarded  us. 
*'We  ha'  sold  him  canvas  and  rope  and  spar — -we  know  that 

his  price  is  fair, 
"And  we  know  that  he  weeps  for  the  lack  of  a  Law  as  he  rides 

off  Finisterre. 
"And  since  he  is  damned  for  a  gallows-thief  by  you  and  better 

than  you, 
"We  hold  it  meet  that  the  English  fleet  should  know  that  we 

hold  him  true." 
The  skipper  called  to  the  tall  taffrail: — "And  what  is  that 

to  me? 

"Did  ever  you  hear  of  a  Yankee  brig  that  rifled  a  Seventy- 
three  ? 
"Do  I  loom  so  large  from  your  quarter-deck  that  I  lift  like  a 

ship  o'  the  Line? 
"He  has  learned  to  run  from  a  shotted  gun  and  harry  such 

craft  as  mine. 
"There  is  never  a  law  on  the  Cocos  Keys,  to  hold  a  white 

man  in, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  385 

"  But  we  do  not  steal  the  niggers'  meal,  for  that  is  a  nigger's 
sin. 

"Must  he  have  his  Law  as  a  quid  to  chaw,  or  laid  in  brass  on 
his  wheel? 

"Does  he  steal  with  tears  when  he  buccaneers?  'Fore  Gad, 
then,  why  does  he  steal?" 

The  skipper  bit  on  a  deep-sea  word,  and  the  word  it  was  not 
sweet, 

For  he  could  see  the  Captains  Three  had  signalled  to  the  Fleet. 

But  three  and  two,  in  white  and  blue,  the  whimpering  flags 
began : — 

"We  have  heard  a  tale  of  a — foreign  sail,  but  he  is  a  mer- 
chantman." 

The  skipper  peered  beneath  his  palm  and  swore  by  the  Great 
Horn  Spoon: — 

"  'Fore  Gad,  the  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet  would  bless  my  pica- 
roon ! " 

By  two  and  three  the  flags  blew  free  to  lash  the  laughing 
air: — 

"We  have  sold  our  spars  to  the  merchantmen — we  know  that 
his  price  is  fair." 

The  skipper  winked  his  Western  eye,  and  swore  by  a  China 
storm : — 

"They  ha'  rigged  him  a  Joseph's  jury-coat  to  keep  his 
honour  warm." 

The  halliards  twanged  against  the  tops,  the  bunting  bellied 
broad, 

The  skipper  spat  in  the  empty  hold  and  mourned  for  a  wasted 
cord. 

Masthead — masthead,  the  signal  sped  by  the  line  o'  the  Brit- 
ish craft: 

The  skipper  called  to  his  Lascar  crew,  and  put  her  about  and 
laughed: — 

"It's  mainsail  haul,  my  bully  boys  all — we'll  out  to  the  seas 
again— 

"Ere  they  set  us  to  paint  their  pirate  saint,  or  scrub  at  his 
grapnel-chain. 


386  .RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"It's  fore-sheet  free,  with  her  head  to  the  sea,  and  the  swing 

of  the  unbought  brine — 
"We'll  make  no  sport  in  an  English  court  till  we  come  as  a 

ship  o'  the  Line: 
"Till  we  come  as  a  ship  o'  the  Line,  my  lads,  of  thirty  foot  in 

the  sheer, 

"Lifting  again  from  the  outer  main  with  news  of  a  privateer; 
"Flying  his  pluck  at  our  mizzen-truck  for  weft  of  Admiralty, 
"Heaving  his  head  for  our  dipsy-lead  in  sign  that  we  keep 

the  sea. 
"Then  fore-sheet  home  as  she  lifts  to  the  foam — we  stand  on 

the  outward  tack, 
"We  are  paid  in  the  coin  of  the  white  man's  trade — the  bezant 

is  hard,  ay,  and  black. 
"The  frigate-bird  shall  carry  my  word  to  the  Kling  and  the 

Orang-Laut 
"How  a  man  may  sail  from  a  heathen  coast  to  be  robbed  in  a 

Christian  port; 
"How  a  man  may  be  robbed  in  Christian  port  while  Three 

Great  Captains  there 
"Shall  dip  their  flag  to  a  slaver's  rag — to  show  that  his  trade 

is  fair!" 


THE  CONUNDRUM  OF  THE  WORKSHOPS 

1890 

V\^HEN  the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell  first  on  Eden's 

green  and  gold, 
Our  father  Adam  sat  under  the  Tree  and  scratched  with  a 

stick  in  the  mould; 
And  the  first  rude  sketch  that  the  world  had  seen  was  joy  to 

his  mighty  heart, 
Till  the  Devil  whispered  behind  the  leaves,  "It's  pretty,  but 

is  it  Art?" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  387 

Wherefore  he  called  to  his  wife,  and  fled  to  fashion  his  work 

anew — 
The  first  of  his  race  who  carred  a  fig  for  the  first,  most  dread 

review; 
And  he  left  his  lore  to  the  use  of  his  sons — and  that  was  a 

glorious  gain 
When  the  Devil  chuckled  "Is  it  Art?"  in  the  ear  of  the 

branded  Cain. 


They  builded  a  tower  to  shiver  the  sky  and  wrench  the  stars 

apart, 
Till  the  Devil  grunted  behind  the  bricks:  "It's  striking,  but  is 

it  Art?" 
The  stone  was  dropped  at  the  quarry-side  and  the  idle  derrick 

swung, 
While  each  man  talked  of  the  aims  of  Art,  and  each  in  an  alien 

tongue. 

They  fought  and  they  talked  in  the  North  and  the  South; 

they  talked  and  they  fought  in  the  West, 
Till  the  waters  rose  on  the  pitiful  land,  and  the  poor  Red  Clay 

had  rest — 
Had  rest  till  that  dank  blank-canvas  dawn  when  the  dove  was 

preened  to  start, 
And  the  Devil  bubbled  below  the  keel:  "It's  human,  but  is  it 

Art?" 


The  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Eden  Tree — and  new  as  the  new-cut 

tooth — 
For  each  man  knows  ere  his  lip-thatch  grows  he  is  master  of 

Art  and  Truth; 
And  each  man  hears  as  the  twilight  nears,  to  the  beat  of  his 

dying  heart, 
The  Devil  drum  on  the  darkened  pane:  "You  did  it,  but  was 

it  Art?" 


388  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We  have  learned  to  whittle  the  Eden  Tree  to  the  shape  of  a 

surplice-peg, 
We  have  learned  to  bottle  our  parents  twain  in  the  yelk  of  an 

addled  egg, 
We  know  that  the  tail  must  wag  the  dog,  for  the  horse  is 

drawn  by  the  cart; 
But  the  Devil  whoops,  as  he  whooped  of  old:  "It's  clever,  but 

is  it  Art?" 

When  the  flicker  of  London  sun  falls  faint  on  the  Club-room's 

green  and  gold, 
The  sons  of  Adam  sit  them  down  and  scratch  with  their  pens 

in  the  mould — 
They  scratch  with  their  pens  in  the  mould  of  their  graves,  and 

the  ink  and  the  anguish  start, 
For  the  Devil  mutters  behind  the  leaves:  "  It's  pretty,  but  is  it 

Art?" 

Now,  if  we  could  win  to  the  Eden  Tree  where  the  Four  Great 

Rivers  flow, 
And  the  Wreath  of  Eve  is  red  on  the  turf  as  she  left  it  long 

ago, 
And  if  we  could  come  when  the  sentry  slept  and  softly  scurry 

through, 
By  the  favour  of  God  we  might  know  as  much — as  our  father 

Adam  knew! 


EVARRA  AND  HIS  GODS 

1890 


This  is  the  story  of  Evarra  —  man  — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  gave  him  of  her  gold, 
Because  the  caravans  brought  turquoises, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  389 

Because  his  life  was  sheltered  by  the  King, 

So  that  no  man  should  maim  him,  none  should  steal, 

Or  break  his  rest  with  babble  in  the  streets 

When  he  was  weary  after  toil,  he  made 

An  image  of  his  God  in  gold  and  pearl, 

With  turquoise  diadem  and  human  eyes, 

A  wonder  in  the  sunshine,  known  afar, 

And  worshipped  by  the  King;  but,  drunk  with  pride, 

Because  the  city  bowed  to  him  for  God, 

He  wrote  above  the  shrine:  "  Thus  Gods  are  made, 

"  And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die" 

And  all  the  city  praised  him.     .     .     .     Then  he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  had  no  wealth  to  give, 
Because  the  caravans  were  spoiled  afar, 
Because  his  life  was  threatened  by  the  King, 
So  that  all  men  despised  him  in  the  streets, 
He  hewed  the  living  rock,  with  sweat  and  tears, 
And  reared  a  God  against  the  morning-gold, 
A  terror  in  the  sunshine,  seen  afar, 
And  worshipped  by  the  King;  but,  drunk  with  pride, 
Because  the  city  fawned  to  bring  him  back, 
He  carved  upon  the  plinth:  "  Thus  Gods  are  made, 
"And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die. " 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.     .     .     .     Then  he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

Because  he  lived  among  a  simple  folk, 

Because  his  village  was  between  the  hills, 

Because  he  smeared  his  cheeks  with  blood  of  ewes, 

He  cut  an  idol  from  a  fallen  pine, 

Smeared  blood  upon  its  cheeks,  and  wedged  a  shell 

Above  its  brow  for  eye,  and  gave  it  hair 


390  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Of  trailing  moss,  and  plaited  straw  for  crown. 

And  all  the  village  praised  him  for  this  craft, 

And  brought  him  butter,  honey,  milk,  and  curds. 

Wherefore,  because  the  shoutings  drove  him  mad, 

He  scratched  upon  that  log:    "  Thus  Gods  are  made, 

"  And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die" 

And  all  the  people  praised  him.     .     .     .     Then  he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

Because  his  God  decreed  one  clot  of  blood 

Should  swerve  one  hair's-breadth  from  the  pulse's  path, 

And  chafe  his  brain,  Evarra  mowed  alone, 

Rag-wrapped,  among  the  cattle  in  the  fields, 

Counting  his  fingers,  jesting  with  the  trees, 

And  mocking  at  the  mist,  until  his  God 

Drove  him  to  labour.     Out  of  dung  and  horns 

Dropped  in  the  mire  he  made  a  monstrous  God, 

Uncleanly,  shapeless,  crowned  with  plantain  tufts, 

And  when  the  cattle  lowed  at  twilight-time, 

He  dreamed  it  was  the  clamour  of  lost  crowds, 

And  howled  among  the  beasts:  "  Thus  Gods  are  made, 

"And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die" 

Thereat  the  cattle  bellowed.  .     Then  he  died. 


Yet  at  the  last  he  came  to  Paradise, 

And  found  his  own  four  Gods,  and  that  he  wrote; 

And  marvelled,  being  very  near  to  God, 

What  oaf  on  earth  had  made  his  toil  God's  law, 

Till  God  said  mocking:  "Mock  not.  These  be  thine." 

Then  cried  Evarra:   "I  have  sinned!"     "Not  so. 

"If  thou  hadst  written  otherwise,  thy  Gods 

"Had  rested  in  the  mountain  and  the  mine, 

"And  I  were  poorer  by  four  wondrous  Gods, 

"And  thy  more  wondrous  law,  Evarra.     Thine, 

"Servant  of  shouting  crowds  and  lowing  kine!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  391 

Thereat,  with  laughing  mouth,  but  tear-wet  eyes, 
Evarra  cast  his  Gods  from  Paradise. 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 


THE  BENEFACTORS 

JH  !     What  avails  the  classic  bent 

And  what  the  cultured  word, 
Against  the  undoctored  incident 
That  actually  occurred  ? 

And  what  is  Art  whereto  we  press 
Through  paint  and  prose  and  rhymt 

When  Nature  in  her  nakedness 
Defeats  us  every  time  ? 

It  is  not  learning,  grace  nor  gear, 
Nor  easy  meat  and  drink, 

But  bitter  pinch  of  pain  and  fear 
That  makes  creation  think 


When  in  this  world's  unpleasing  youth 

Our  god-like  race  began, 
The  longest  arm,  the  sharpest  tooth, 

Gave  man  control  of  man; 


Till,  bruised  and  bitten  to  the  bone 
And  taught  by  pain  and  fear, 

He  learned  to  deal  the  far-off  stone, 
And  poke  the  long,  safe  spear. 


392  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

So  tooth  and  nail  were  obsolete 

As  means  against  a  foe, 
Till,  bored  by  uniform  defeat, 

Some  genius  built  the  bow. 

Then  stone  and  javelin  proved  as  vain 
As  old-time  tooth  and  nail; 

Till,  spurred  anew  by  fear  and  pain, 
Man  fashioned  coats  of  mail. 


Then  was  there  safety  for  the  rich 
And  danger  for  the  poor, 

Till  someone  mixed  a  powder  which 
Redressed  the  scale  once  more. 


Helmet  and  armour  disappeared 
With  sword  and  bow  and  pike, 

And,  when  the  smoke  of  battle  cleared, 
All  men  were  armed  alike. 


And  when  ten  million  such  were  slain 

To  please  one  crazy  king, 
Man,  schooled  in  bulk  by  fear  and  pain, 

Grew  weary  of  the  thing; 


And,  at  the  very  hour  designed, 
To  enslave  him  past  recall, 

His  tooth-stone-arrow-gun-shy  mind 
Turned  and  abolished  all. 


All  Power ;  each  Tyrant,  every  Mob 
Whose  head  has  grown  too  large, 

Ends  by  destroying  its  own  job 
And  works  its  own  discharge; 


INCLUSIVE   EDITION,    1885-1918  393 

And  Man,  whose  mere  necessities 

Move  all  things  from  his  path, 
Trembles  meanwhile  at  their  decrees y 

And  deprecates  their  "wrath  ! 


IN  THE  NEOLITHIC  AGE 

i  895 

TN  THE  Neolithic  Age  savage  warfare  did  I  wage 

For  food  and  fame  and  woolly  horses'  pelt; 
I  was  singer  to  my  clan  in  that  dim,  red  Dawn  of  Man, 
And  I  sang  of  all  we  fought  and  feared  and  felt. 

Yea,  I  sang  as  now  I  sing,  when  the  Prehistoric  spring 
Made  the  piled  Biscayan  ice-pack  split  and  shove; 

And  the  troll  and  gnome  and  dwerg,  and  the  Gods  of  Cliff  and 

Berg 
Were  about  me  and  beneath  me  and  above. 

But  a  rival  of  Solutre,  told  the  tribe  my  style  was  outrt — . 

'Neath  a  tomahawk,  of  diorite,  he  fell. 

And  I  left  my  views  on  Art,  barbed  and  tanged,  below  the 
heart 

Of  a  mammothistic  etcher  at  Crenelle. 

Then  I  stripped  them,  scalp  from  skull,  and  my  hunting  dogs 

fed  full, 

And  their  teeth  I  threaded  neatly  on  a  thong; 
And  I  wiped  my  mouth  and  said,  "It  is  well  that  they  are 

dead, 
"For  I  know  my  work  is  right  and  theirs  was  wrong." 


394  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

But  my  Totem  saw  the  shame;  from  his  ridgepole-shrine  he 
came, 

And  he  told  me  in  a  vision  of  the  night: — 
"There  are  nine  and  sixty  ways  of  constructing  tribal  lays, 

"And  every  single  one  of  them  is  right!" 


Then  the  silence  closed  upon  me  till  They  put  new  clothing 

on  me 

Of  whiter,  weaker  flesh  and  bone  more  frail; 
And  I  stepped  beneath  Time's  finger,  once  again  a  tribal 

singer, 
And  a  minor  poet  certified  by  Traill. 

Still  they  skirmish  to  and  fro,  men  my  messmates  on  the  snow, 
When  we  headed  off  the  aurochs  turn  for  turn; 

When  the  rich  Allobrogenses  never  kept  amanuenses, 
And  our  only  plots  were  piled  in  lakes  at  Berne. 

Still  a  cultured  Christian  age  sees  us  scuffle,  squeak,  and  rage, 
Still  we  pinch  and  slap  and  jabber,  scratch  and  dirk; 

Still  we  let  our  business  slide — as  we  dropped  the  half-dressed 

hide- 
To  show  a  fellow-savage  how  to  work. 

Still  the  world  is  wondrous  large, — seven  seas  from  marge  to 

marge — 

And  it  holds  a  vast  of  various  kinds  of  man; 
And  the  wildest  dreams  of  Kew  are  the  facts  of  Khatmandhu, 
•    And  the  crimes  of  Clapham  chaste  in  Martaban. 

Here's  my  wisdom  for  your  use,  as  I  learned  it  when  the  moose 

And  the  reindeer  roared  where  Paris  roars  to-night: — 
"  There  are  nine  and  sixty  ways  of  constructing  tribal  /ays, 
And — every — single — one — of — them — is — right! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  395 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY 

PRIMITIVE 

T  ATE  my  fill  of  a  whale  that  died 

And  stranded  after  a  month  at  sea. 
There  is  a  pain  in  my  inside. 

Why  have  the  Gods  afflicted  me? 
Ow!     I  am  purged  till  I  am  a  wraith! 

Wow!     I  am  sick  till  I  cannot  see! 
What  is  the  sense  of  Religion  and  Faith? 

Look  how  the  Gods  have  afflicted  me! 


PAGAN 

How  can  the  skin  of  rat  or  mouse  hold 

Anything  more  than  a  harmless  flea?     .     . 
The  burning  plague  has  taken  my  household. 

Why  have  my  Gods  afflicted  me? 
All  my  kith  and  kin  are  deceased, 

Though  they  were  as  good  as  good  could  be, 
I  will  out  and  batter  the  family  priest, 

Because  my  Gods  have  afflicted  me! 


My  pr 

Afte 


MEDIEVAL 

>rivy  and  well  drain  into  each  other 

After  the  custom  of  Christendie.     .     .     . 
Fevers  and  fluxes  are  wasting  my  mother. 

Why  has  the  Lord  afflicted  me? 
The  Saints  are  helpless  for  all  I  offer — 

So  are  the  clergy  I  used  to  fee. 
Henceforward  I  keep  my  cash  in  my  coffer, 

Because  the  Lord  has  afflicted  me. 


396  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


MATERIAL 

I  run  eight  hundred  hens  to  the  acre 

They  die  by  dozens  mysteriously.     .     .     . 
I  am  more  than  doubtful  concerning  my  Maker. 

Why  has  the  Lord  afflicted  me? 
What  a  return  for  all  my  endeavour — 

Not  to  mention  the  L.  S.  D! 
I  am  an  atheist  now  and  for  ever, 

Because  this  God  has  afflicted  me! 


PROGRESSIVE 

Money  spent  on  an  Army  or  Fleet 

Is  homicidal  lunacy.     .     .     . 
My  son  has  been  killed  in  the  Mons  retreat, 

Why  is  the  Lord  afflicting  me? 
Why  are  murder,  pillage  and  arson 

And  rape  allowed  by  the  Deity? 
I  will  write  to  the  Times,  deriding  our  parson 

Because  my  God  has  afflicted  me. 


CHORUS 

We  had  a  kettle:  we  let  it  leak: 
Our  not  repairing  it  made  it  worse. 

We  haven't  had  any  tea  for  a  week. 
The  bottom  is  out  of  the  Universe! 


CONCLUSION 

This  was  none  of  the  good  Lord's  pleasure, 
For  the  Spirit  He  breathed  in  Man  is  free; 

But  what  comes  after  is  measure  for  measure, 
And  not  a  God  that  afflicteth  thee. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918          397 

As  was  the  sowing  so  the  reaping 

Is  now  and  evermore  shall  be. 
Thou  art  delivered  to  thine  own  keeping. 

Only  Thyself  hath  afflicted  thee! 


THE  STORY  OF  UNG 

i  894 

,  on  a  glittering  ice-field,  ages  and  ages  ago, 
Ung,  a  maker  of  pictures,  fashioned  an  image  of  snow. 
Fashioned  the  form  of  a  tribesman — gaily  he  whistled  and 

sung, 
Working  the  snow  with  his  fingers.     Read  ye  the  story  of  Ung ! 

Pleased  was  his  tribe  with  that  image — came  in  their  hundreds 

to  scan — 

Handled  it,  smelt  it,  and  grunted:  "Verily,  this  is  a  man! 
"Thus  do  we  carry  our  lances — thus  is  a  war-belt  slung. 
"Lo!  it  is  even  as  we  are.  Glory  and  honour  to  Ung!" 

Later  he  pictured  an  aurochs — later  he  pictured  a  bear — 
Pictured  the  sabre-tooth  tiger  dragging  a  man  to  his  lair — 
Pictured    the    mountainous    mammoth,    hairy,    abhorrent, 

alone — 
Out  of  the  love  that  he  bore  them,  scriving  them  clearly  on 

bone. 

Swift  came  his  tribe  to  behold  them,  peering  and  pushing  and 

still- 
Men  of  the  berg-battered  beaches,  men  of  the  boulder-hatched 

hill- 
Hunters  and  fishers  and  trappers,  presently  whispering  low: 
"  Yea,  they  are  like — and  it  may  be.     But  how  does  the 

Picture-man  know? 


398  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Ung — hath  he  slept  with  the  Aurochs — watched  where  the 
Mastodon  roam? 

"Spoke  on  the  ice  with  the  Bow-head — followed  the  Sabre- 
tooth  home? 

"Nay!    These  are  toys  of  his  fancy!    If  he  have  cheated  us  so, 

"How  is  there  truth  in  his  image — the  man  that  he  fashioned 
of  snow?" 

Wroth  was  that  maker  of  pictures — hotly  he  answered  the  call: 
"Hunters  and  fishers  and  trappers,  children  and  fools  are  ye 

all! 
"Look  at  the  beasts  when  ye  hunt  them!"    Swift  from  the 

tumult  he  broke, 
Ran  to  the  cave  of  his  father  and  told  him  the  shame  that 

they  spoke. 

And  the  father  of  Ung  gave  answer,  that  was  old  and  wise  in 

the  craft, 
Maker  of  pictures  aforetime,  he  leaned  on  his  lance  and 

laughed 
"  If  they  could  see  as  thou  seest  they  would  do  what  thou  hast 

done, 
"And  each  man  would  make  him  a  picture,  and — what  would 

become  of  my  son  ? 

"There  would  be  no  pelts  of  the  reindeer,  flung  down  at  thy 

cave  for  a  gift, 

"Nor  dole  of  the  oily  timber  that  comes  on  the  Baltic  drift; 
"No  store  of  well-drilled  needles,  nor  ouches  of  amber  pale; 
"No  new-cut  tongues  of  the  bison,  nor  meat  of  the  stranded 

whale. 

"  Thou  hast  not  toiled  at  the  fishing  when  the  sodden  trammels 

freeze, 
"Nor  worked  the  war-boats  outward  through  the  rush  of  the 

rock-staked  seas, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  399 

"Yet  they  bring  thee  fish  and  plunder — full  meal  and  an 

easy  bed — 
"And  all  for  the  sake  of  thy  pictures."   And  Ung  held  down 

his  head. 


"  Thou  has  not  stood  to  the  Aurochs  when  the  red  snow  reeks 

of  the  fight. 

"Men  have  no  time  at  the  houghing  to  count  his  curls  aright. 
"And  the  heart  of  the  hairy  Mammoth,  thou  sayest,  they  do 

not  see, 
"Yet  they  save  it  whole  from  the  beaches  and  broil  the  best 

for  thee. 

"And  now  do  they  press  to  thy  pictures,  with  opened  mouth 

and  eye, 
"And  a  little  gift  in  the  doorway,  and  the  praise  no  gift  can 

buy: 
"But — sure  they  have  doubted  thy  pictures,  and  that  is  a 

grievous  stain — 
"Son  that  can  see  so  clearly,  return  them  their  gifts  again!" 

And  Ung  looked  down  at  his  deerskins — their  broad  shell- 

tasselled  bands — 
And  Ung  drew  forward  his  mittens  and  looked  at  his  naked 

hands; 
And  he  gloved  himself  and  departed,  and  he  heard  his  father, 

behind: 
"Son  that  can  see  so  clearly,  rejoice  that  thy  tribe  is  blind!" 

Straight  on  the  glittering  ice-field,  by  the  caves  of  the  lost 

Dordogne, 

Ung,  a  maker  of  pictures,  fell  to  his  scriving  on  bone — 
Even  to  mammoth  editions.     Gaily  he  whistled  and  sung, 
Blessing  his  tribe  for  their  blindness.     Heed  ye  the  Story  of 

Ung! 


400  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


THE  CRAFTSMAN 


01 


|NCE,  after  long-drawn  revel  at  The  Mermaid, 
He  to  the  overbearing  Boanerges 
Jonson,  uttered  (if  half  of  it  were  liquor, 

Blessed  be  the  vintage!) 

Saying  how,  at  an  alehouse  under  Cotswold, 
He  had  made  sure  of  his  very  Cleopatra, 
Drunk  with  enormous,  salvation-contemning 
Love  for  a  tinker. 

How,  while  he  hid  from  Sir  Thomas's  keepers, 
Crouched  in  a  ditch  and  drenched  by  the  midnight 
Dews,  he  had  listened  to  gipsy  Juliet 

Rail  at  the  dawning. 

How  at  Bankside,  a  boy  drowning  kittens 
Winced  at  the  business;  whereupon  his  sister — 
Lady  Macbeth  aged  seven —  thrust  'em  under, 
Sombrely  scornful. 

How  on  a  Sabbath,  hushed  and  compassionate — 
She  being  known  since  her  birth  to  the  townsfolk — 
Stratford  dredged  and  delivered  from  Avon 
Dripping  Ophelia. 

So,  with  a  thin  third  finger  marrying 
Drop  to  wine-drop  domed  on  the  table, 
Shakespeare  opened  his  heart  till  the  sunrise — 
Entered  to  hear  him. 

London  wakened  and  he,  imperturbable, 
Passed  from  waking  to  hurry  after  shadows     .     .     . 
Busied  upon  shows  of  no  earthly  importance? 
Yes,  but  he  knew  it! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  401 

THE  FILES 

i  903 

(The  Sub-editor  Speaks) 

FILES- 

The  Files- 
Office  Files! 

Oblige  me  by  referring  to  the  Files. 
Every  question  man  can  raise, 
Every  phrase  of  every  phase 
Of  that  question  is  on  record  in  the  Files — 
(Threshed  out  threadbare — fought  and  finished  in  the  Files). 
Ere  the  Universe  at  large 
Was  our  new-tipped  arrows'  targe — 
Ere  we  rediscovered  Mammon  and  his  wiles — 
Faenza,  gentle  reader,  spent  her — fi ve-and-twentieth  leader — 
(You  will  find  him,  and  some  others,  in  the  Files). 
Warn  all  coming  Robert  Brownings  and  Carlyles, 
It  will  interest  them  to  hunt  among  the  Files, 
Where  unvisited,  a-cold, 
Lie  the  crowded  years  of  old 
In  that  Kensall-Green  of  greatness  called  the  Files 
(In  our  newspaPere-la-Chaise  the  Office  Files), 
Where  the  dead  men  lay  them  down 
Meekly  sure  of  long  renown, 
And  above  them,  sere  and  swift, 
Packs  the  daily  deepening  drift 
Of  the  all-recording,  all-effacing  Files — 
The  obliterating,  automatic  Files. 
Count  the  mighty  men  who  slung 
Ink,  Evangel,  Sword,  or  Tongue 
When  Reform  and  you  were  young — 
Made  their  boasts  and  spake  according  in  the  Files — 
(Hear  the  ghosts  that  wake  applauding  in  the  Files!) 


402  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Trace  each  all- forgot  career 

From  long  primer  through  brevier 

Unto  Death,  a  para  minion  in  the  Files 

(Para  minion — solid — bottom  of  the  Files).     .     .     . 

Some  successful  Kings  and  Queens  adorn  the  Files. 

They  were  great,  their  views  were  leaded, 

And  their  deaths  were  triple-headed, 

So  they  catch  the  eye  in  running  through  the  Files 

(Show  as  blazes  in  the  mazes  of  the  Files); 

For  their  "paramours  and  priests," 

And  their  gross,  jack-booted  feasts, 

And  their  "epoch-marking  actions"  see  the  Files. 

Was  it  Bomba  fled  the  blue  Sicilian  isles? 

Was  it  Saffi,  a  professor 

Once  of  Oxford,  brought  redress  or 

Garibaldi?     Who  remembers 

Forty-odd-year-old  Septembers  ? — 

Only  sextons  paid  to  dig  among  the  Files 

(Such  as  I  am,  born  and  bred  among  the  Files). 

You  must  hack  through  much  deposit 

Ere  you  know  for  sure  who  was  it 

Came  to  burial  with  such  honour  in  the  Files 

(Only  seven  seasons  back  beneath  the  Files). 

"Very  great  our  loss  and  grievous — 

"So  our  best  and  brightest  leave  us, 

"And  it  ends  the  Age  of  Giants,"  say  the  Files; 

All  the  '60 — '70 — '80 — '90  Files 

(The  open-minded,  opportunist  Files — 

The  easy  "O  King,  live  for  ever"  Files). 

It  is  good  to  read  a  little  in  the  Files; 

'Tis  a  sure  and  sovereign  balm 

Unto  philosophic  calm, 

Yea,  and  philosophic  doubt  when  Life  beguiles. 

When  you  know  Success  is  Greatness, 

When  you  marvel  at  your  lateness 

In  apprehending  facts  so  plain  to  Smiles 

(Self- helpful,  wholly  strenuous  Samuel  Smiles). 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,  •  1885-1918  403 

When  your  Imp  of  Blind  Desire 

Bids  you  set  the  Thames  afire, 

You'll  remember  men  have  done  so — in  the  Files. 

You'll  have  seen  those  flames  transpire — in  tiie  Files 

(More  than  once  that  flood  has  run  so — in  the  Files). 

When  the  Conchimarian  horns 

Of  the  reboantic  Norns 

Usher  gentlemen  and  ladies 

With  new  lights  on  Heaven  and  Hades, 

Guaranteeing  to  Eternity 

All  yesterday's  modernity; 

When  Brocken-spectres  made  by 

Some  one's  breath  on  ink  parade  by, 

Very  earnest  and  tremendous, 

Let  not  shows  of  shows  offend  us. 

When  of  everything  we  like  we 

Shout  ecstatic:     "Quod  u&ique, 

"Quod  ab  omnibus  means  semper  /" 

Oh,  my  brother,  keep  your  temper! 

Light  your  pipe  and  take  a  look  along  the  Files. 

You've  a  better  chance  to  guess 

At  the  meaning  of  Success 

(Which  is  Greatness — vide  press) 

When  you've  seen  it  in  perspective  in  the  Files. 


THE  VIRGINITY 

*~PRY  as  he  will,  no  man  breaks  wholly  loose 

From  his  first  love,  no  matter  who  she  be. 
Oh,  was  there  ever  sailor  free  to  choose, 
That  didn't  settle  somewhere  near  the  sea? 

Myself,  it  don't  excite  me  nor  amuse 
To  watch  a  pack  o'  shipping  on  the  sea, 

But  I  can  understand  my  neighbour's  views 

From  certain  things  which  have  occurred  to  me. 


4o4  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Men  must  keep  touch  with  things  they  used  to  use 
To  earn  their  living,  even  when  they  are  free; 
And  so  come  back  upon  the  least  excuse — 
Same  as  the  sailor  settled  near  the  sea. 

He  knows  he's  never  going  on  no  cruise — 
He  knows  he's  done  and  finished  with  the  sea; 
And  yet  he  likes  to  feel  she's  there  to  use — 
If  he  should  ask  her — as  she  used  to  be. 

Even  though  she  cost  him  all  he  had  to  lose, 
Even  though  she  made  him  sick  to  hear  or  see, 
Still,  what  she  left  of  him  will  mostly  choose 
Her  skirts  to  sit  by.     How  comes  such  to  be? 

Parsons  in  pulpits,  tax-payers  in  pews. 

Kings  on  your  thrones,  you  know  as  well  as  me, 

We've  only  one  virginity  to  lose. 

And  where  we  lost  it  there  our  hearts  will  be  ! 


THE  LEGENDS  OF  EVIL 

1890 

I 

*TPHIS  is  the  sorrowful  story 
Told  as  the  twilight  fails 
And  the  monkeys  walk  together 
Holding  their  neighbours'  tails:— 

"Our  fathers  lived  in  the  forest, 
"Foolish  people  were  they, 

"They  went  down  to  the  cornland 
"To  teach  the  farmers  to  play. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  405 

"Our  fathers  frisked  in  the  millet, 
"Our  fathers  skipped  in  the  wheat, 

"Our  fathers  hung  from  the  branches, 
"Our  fathers  danced  in  the  street. 


"Then  came  the  terrible  farmers, 
"Nothing  of  play  they  knew, 

"Only     .     .     .     they  caught  our  fathers 
"And  set  them  to  labour  too! 


"Set  them  to  work  in  the  cornland 
"With  ploughs  and  sickles  and  flails, 

"Put  them  in  mud-walled  prisons, 
"And — cut  off  their  beautiful  tails! 


"Now,  we  can  watch  our  fathers, 
"Sullen  and  bowed  and  old, 

"Stooping  over  the  millet, 
"Sharing  the  silly  mould, 

"Driving  a  foolish  furrow, 
"Mending  a  muddy  yoke, 

"Sleeping  in  mud-walled  prisons, 
"Steeping  their  food  in  smoke. 

"We  may  not  speak  with  our  fathers, 

"For  if  the  farmers  knew 
"They  would  come  up  to  the  forest 

"And  set  us  to  labour  too." 

This  is  the  horrible  story 

Told  as  the  twilight  fails 
And  the  monkeys  walk  together 

Holding  their  neighbours'  tails. 


4o6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


II 

'HPWAS  when  the  rain  fell  steady  an'  the  Ark  was  pitched 
an*  ready, 

That  Noah  got  his  orders  for  to  take  the  bastes  below; 
He  dragged  them  all  together  by  the  horn  an'  hide  an'  feather, 

An'  all  excipt  the  Donkey  was  agreeable  to  go. 


First  Noah  spoke  him  fairly,  thin  talked  to  him  sevarely, 

An'  thin  he  cursed  him  squarely  to  the  glory  av  the  Lord : — 
"Divil  take  the  ass  that  bred  you,  and  the  greater  ass  that 

fed  you — 

"Divil  go  wid  ye,  ye  spalpeen!"  an'   the  Donkey  wint 
aboard. 


But  the  wind  was  always  failin',  an'  'twas  most  onaisy  sailin', 

An'  the  ladies  in  the  cabin  couldn't  stand  the  stable  air; 

An'  the  bastes  betwuxt  the  hatches,  they  tuk  an'  died  in 

batches, 

Till  Noah  said: — "There's  wan  av  us  that  hasn't  paid  his 
fare!" 


For  he  heard  a  flusteration  'mid  the  bastes  av  all  creation — 
The  trumpetin'  av  elephints  an'  bellowin'  av  whales; 

An'  he  saw  forninst  the  windy  whin  he  wint  to  stop  the  shindy 
The  Divil  wid  a  stable-fork  was  bedivillin'  their  tails. 


The  Divil  cursed  outrageous,  but  Noah  said  umbrageous: — 
"To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  tenant-right  invasion?" 

An'  the  Divil  gave  for  answer:  "Evict  me  if  you  can,  sir, 
"For  I  came  in  wid  the  Donkey — on  Your  Honour's 
invitation." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  407 

PAN  IN  VERMONT 

i  893 

(About  the  I5th  of  this  month  you  may  expect  our  Mr. — ,  with  the  usual 
Spring  Seed,  etc.     Catalogues. — Florists'  Announcement..') 

IT'S  forty  in  the  shade  to-day  the  spouting  eaves  declare; 
The  boulders  nose  above  the  drift,  the  southern  slopes  are 

bare; 

Hub-deep  in  slush  Apollo's  car  swings  north  along  the  Zod- 
iac. Good  lack,  the  Spring  is  back,  and  Pan  is  on  the  road! 

His  house  is  Gee  &  Tellus'  Sons, — so  goes  his  jest  with  men — 
He  sold  us  Zeus  knows  what  last  year;  he'll  take  us  in  again. 
Disguised  behind  a  livery-team,  fur-coated,  rubber-shod — 
Yet  Apis  from  the  bull-pen  lows — he  knows  his  brother  God! 

Now  down  the  lines  of  tasselled  pines  the  yearning  whispers 

wake — 

Pitys  of  old  thy  love  behold.     Come  in  for  Hermes'  sake! 
How  long  since  that  so-Boston  boot  with  reeling   Maenads 

ran? 
Numen  adest !    Let  be  the  rest.     Pipe  and  we  pay,  O  Pan. 

(What  though  his  phlox  and  hollyhocks  ere  half  a  month 

demised? 

What  though  his  ampelopsis  clambered  not  as  advertised? 
Though  every  seed  was  guaranteed  and  every  standard  true — 
Forget,  forgive  they  did  not  live!  Believe,  and  buy  anew!) 

Now  o'er  a  careless  knee  he  flings  the  painted  page  abroad — 
Such  bloom  hath  never  eye  beheld  this  side  the  Eden  Sword; 
Such  fruit  Pomona  marks  her  own,  yea,  Liber  oversees 
That  we  may  reach  (one  dollar  each)  the  Lost  Hesperides! 


4o8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Serene,  assenting,  unabashed,  he  writes  our  orders  down: — 
Blue  Asphodel  on  all  our  paths — a  few  true  bays  for  crown — 
Uncankered  bud,  immortal  flower,  and  leaves  that  never  fall — 
Apples  of  Gold,  of  Youth,  of  Health — and — thank  you,  Pan, 
that's  all. 

He's  off  along  the  drifted  pent  to  catch  the  Windsor  train, 
And  swindle  every  citizen  from  Keene  to  Lake  Champlain; 
But  where  his  goat's-hoof  cut  the  crust — beloved,  look 

below — 
He's  left  us  (I'll  forgive  him  all)  the  may-flower  'neath  her 


VERSES  ON  GAMES 

(To  an  Almanac  of  Twelve  Sports  by  W.  Nicholson,  1898.) 


is  a  horse  to  tame 
Here  is  a  gun  to  handle  — 
God  knows  you  can  enter  the  game 
If  you  II  only  pay  for  the  same, 
And  the  price  of  the  game  is  a  candle  — 
A  single  flickering  candle  ! 

JANUARY  (Hunting)  Certes,  it  is  a  noble  sport, 
And  men  have  quitted  selle  and  swum  for't. 

But  I  am  of  the  meeker  sort 
And  I  prefer  Surtees  in  comfort. 

Reach  me  my  Handley  Cross  again, 

My  run,  where  never  danger  lurks,  is 
With  Jorrocks  and  his  deathless  train  — 

Pigg,  Binjimin,  and  Artexerxes. 

FEBRUARY  (Coursing)  Most  men  harry  the  world  for  fun- 
Each  man  seeks  it  a  different  way, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  409 

But  "of  all  daft  devils  under  the  sun, 
A  greyhound's  the  daftest"  says  Jorrocks  J. 

MARCH  (Racing)  The  horse  is  ridden — the  jockey  rides — 

The  backers  back — the  owners  own 
But     .     .     .     there  are  lots  of  things  beside, 

And  /  should  let  this  game  alone. 

APRIL  (Rowing)  The  Pope  of  Rome  he  could  not  win 

From  pleasant  meats  and  pleasant  sin 
These  who,  replying  not,  submit 

Unto  the  curses  of  the  pit 
Which  that  stern  coach  (oh,  greater  shame) 

Flings  forth  by  number  not  by  name. 
Can  Triple  Crown  or  Jesuit's  oath 
Do  what  one  wrathful  trainer  doth? 

MAY  (Fishing)  Behold  a  parable.     A  fished  for  B 

C  took  her  bait;  her  heart  being  set  on  D. 
Thank  heaven  who  cooled  your  blood  and  cramped  your 
wishes, 

Men  and  not  Gods  torment  you,  little  fishes! 

JUNE  (Cricket)  Thank  God  who  made  the  British  Isles 

And  taught  me  how  to  play, 
I  do  not  worship  crocodiles, 

Or  bow  the  knee  to  clay! 
Give  me  a  willow  wand  and  I 

With  hide  and  cork  and  twine 
From  century  to  century 

W7ill  gambol  round  my  shrine! 

JULY  (Archery)   The  child  of  the  Nineties  considers  with 

laughter 

The  maid  whom  his  sire  in  the  Sixties  ran  after, 
While  careering  himself  in  pursuit  of  a  girl  whom 
The  Twenties  will  dub  a  "last  century  heirloom." 


4io  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

AUGUST  (Coaching)  The  Pious  Horse  to  church  may  trot, 
A  maid  may  work  a  man's  salvation     .... 

Four  horses  and  a  girl  are  not, 
However,  roads  to  reformation. 


SEPTEMBER  (Shooting)  "Peace  u,pon  Earth,  Goodwill  to  men ' 

So  greet  we  Christmas  Day! 
Oh,  Christian,  load  your  gun  and  then 

Oh,  Christian,  out  and  slay. 


OCTOBER  (Golf)  Why  Golf  is  art  and  art  is  Golf 

We  have  not  far  to  seek — 
So  much  depends  upon  the  lie, 

So  much  upon  the  cleek. 


NOVEMBER  (Boxing)  Read  here  the  moral  roundly  writ 

For  him  who  into  battle  goes — 
Each  soul  that  hitting  hard  or  hit, 

Endureth  gross  or  ghostly  foes. 

Prince,  blown  by  many  overthrows 

Half  blind  with  shame,  half  choked  with  dirt 
Man  cannot  tell,  but  Allah  knows 

How  much  the  other  side  was  hurt ! 


DECEMBER  (Skating)  Over  the  ice  she  flies 

Perfect  and  poised  and  fair. 
Stars  in  my  true-love's  eyes 

Teach  me  to  do  and  dare. 
Now  will  I  fly  as  she  flies — 

Woe  for  the  stars  that  misled. 
Stars  I  beheld  in  her  eyes, 

Now  do  I  see  in  my  head! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  4u 

Now  we  must  come  away. 

What  are  you  out  of  pocket  ? 
'Sorry  to  spoil  your  play 
But  somebody  says  we  must  pay 

And  the  candle's  down  to  the  socket — 
Its  horrible  tallowy  socket. 


TOMLINSON 

1891 

^"OW  Tomlinson  gave  up  the  ghost  in  his  house  in  Berkeley 

Square, 
And  a  Spirit  came  to  his  bedside  and  gripped  him  by  the 

hair — 

A  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair  and  carried  him  far  away, 
Till  he  heard  as  the  roar  of  a  rain-fed  ford  the  roar  of  the 

Milky  Way: 
Till  he  heard  the  roar  of  the  Milky  Way  die  down  and  drone 

and  cease, 
And  they  came  to  the  Gate  within  the  Wall  where  Peter  holds. 

the  keys. 
"Stand  up,  stand  up  now,  Tomlinson,  and  answer  loud  and 

high 
"The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men  or  ever  ye  came  to 

die— 
"The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men  in  little  earth  so 

lonel" 
And  the  naked  soul  of  Tomlinson  grew  white  as  a  rain-washed 

bone. 

"OI  have  a  friend  on  earth,"  he  said,  "that  was  my  priest  and 

guide, 
"And  well  would  he  answer  all  for  me  if  he  were  at  my  side/* 


412  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

— "For  that  ye  strove  in  neighbour-love  it  shall  be  written 

fair, 
"But  now  ye  wait  at  Heaven's  Gate  and  not  in  Berkeley 

Square: 
"Though  we  called  your  friend  from  his  bed  this  night,  he 

could  not  speak  for  you, 
"For  the  race  is  run  by  one  and  one  and  never  by  two  and 

two." 
Then  Tomlinson  looked  up  and  down,  and  little  gain  was 

there, 
For  the  naked  stars  grinned  overhead,  and  he  saw  that  his 

soul  was  bare. 
The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  Worlds,  it  cut  him  like  a 

knife, 
And  Tomlinson  took  up  the  tale  and  spoke  of  his  good  in 

life. 
"O  this  I  have  read  in  a  book,"  he  said,  "  and  that  was  told  to 

me, 
"And  this  I  have  thought  that  another  man  thought  of  a 

Prince  in  Muscovy." 
The  good  souls  flocked  like  homing  doves  and  bade  him  clear 

the  path, 

And  Peter  twirled  the  jangling  Keys  in  weariness  and  wrath. 
"Ye  have  read,  ye  have  heard,  ye  have  thought,"  he  said, 

"and  the  tale  is  yet  to  run: 
"By  the  worth  of  the  body  that  once  ye  had,  give  answer — 

what  ha'  ye  done?" 

Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and  little  good  it  bore, 
For  the  darkness  stayed  at  his  shoulder-blade  and  Heaven's 

Gate  before: — 
"O  this  I  have  felt,  and  this  I  have  guessed,  and  this  I  have 

heard  men  say, 
"And  this  they  wrote  that  another  man  wrote  of  a  carl  in 

Nor  ro  way." 
"Ye  have  read,  ye  have  felt,  ye  have  guessed,  good  lack!  Ye 

have  hampered  Heaven's  Gate; 
"There's  little  room  between  the  stars  in  idleness  to  prate! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  413 

"O  none  may  reach  by  hired  speech  of  neighbour,  priest,  and 

kin 
"Through  borrowed  deed  to  God's  good  meed  that  lies  so  fair 

within; 
"Get  hence,  get  hence  to  the  Lord  of  Wrong,  for  the  doom  has 

yet  to  run, 
"And     .     .     .     the  faith  that  ye  share  with  Berkeley  Square 

uphold  you,  Tomlinson!" 


The  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair,  and  sun  by  sun  they  fell 
Till  they  came  to  the  belt  of  Naughty  Stars  that  rim  the 

mouth  of  Hell. 
The  first  are  red  with  pride  and  wrath,  the  next  are  white  with 

pain, 
But  the  third  are  black  with  clinkered  sins  that  cannot  burn 

again: 
They  may  hold  their  path,  they  may  leave  their  path,  with 

never  a  soul  to  mark, 
They  may  burn  or  freeze,  but  they  must  not  cease  in  the  Scorn 

of  the  Outer  Dark. 
The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  Worlds,  it  nipped  him  to 

the  bone, 
And  he  yearned  to  the  flare  of  Hell-gate  there  as  the  light  of 

his  own  hearth-stone. 
The  Devil  he  sat  behind  the  bars,  where  the  desperate  legions 

drew, 
But  he  caught  the  hasting  Tomlinson  and  would  not  let  him 

through. 

"  Wot  ye  the  price  of  good  pit-coal  that  I  must  pay?"  said  he, 
"That  ye  rank  yoursel'  so  fit  for  Hell  and  ask  no  leave  of  me? 
"I  am  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  ye  should  give  me 

scorn, 
"  For  I  strove  with  God  for  your  First  Father  the  day  that  he 

was  born. 
"Sit  down,  sit  down  upon  the  slag,  and  answer  loud  and  high 


4H  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"The  harm  that  ye  did  to  the  Sons  of  Men  or  ever  you  came 

to  die." 

And  Tomlinson  looked  up  and  up,  and  saw  against  the  night 
The  belly  of  a  tortured  star  blood-red  in  Hell-Mouth  light; 
And  Tomlinson  looked  down  and  down,  and  saw  beneath  his 

feet 
The  frontlet  of  a  tortured  star  milk-white  in  Hell-Mouth 

heat. 

"O I  had  a  love  on  earth,"  said  he,  "  that  kissed  me  to  my  fall; 
"  And  if  ye  would  call  my  love  to  me  I  know  she  would  answer 

•   all." 

— "All  that  ye  did  in  love  forbid  it  shall  be  written  fair, 
"But  now  ye  wait  at  Hell-Mouth  Gate  and  not  in  Berkeley 

Square: 
"Though  we  whistled  your  love  from  her  bed  to-night,  I  trow 

she  would  not  run, 
"For  the  sin  ye  do  by  two  and  two  ye  must  pay  for  one  by 

one!" 
The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  Worlds,  it  cut  him  like  a 

knife, 

And  Tomlinson  took  up  the  tale  and  spoke  of  his  sins  in  life : — 
"Once  I  ha'  laughed  at  the  power  of  Love  and  twice  at  the 

grip  of  the  Grave, 
"And  thrice  I  ha'  patted  my  God  on  the  head  that  men  might 

call  me  brave." 
The  Devil  he  blew  on  a  brandered  soul  and  set  it  aside  to 

cool : — 
"Do  ye  think  I  would  waste  my  good  pit-coal  on  the  hide  of 

a  brain-sick  fool? 
"  I  see  no  worth  in  the  hobnailed  mirth  or  the  jolthead  jest  ye 

did 
"That  I  should  waken  my  gentlemen  that  are  sleeping  three 

on  a  grid." 
Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and  there  was  little 

grace. 
For  Hell-Gate  filled  the  houseless  soul  with  the  Fear  of  Naked 

Space. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  415 

"Nay,  this  I  ha'  heard,"  quo*  Tomlinson,  "and  this  was 

noised  abroad, 
"And  this  I  ha'  got  from  a  Belgian  book  on  the  word  of  a  dead 

French  lord." 
-"Ye  ha'  heard,  ye  ha'  read,  ye  ha'  got,  good  lack!  and  the 

tale  begins  afresh — 

"Have  ye  sinned  one  sin  for  the  pride  o'  the  eye  or  the  sin- 
ful lust  of  the  flesh?" 
Then  Tomlinson  he  gripped  the  bars  and  yammered,  "Let 

me  in — 
"For  I  mind  that  I  borrowed  my  neighbour's  wife  to  sin  the- 

deadly  sin." 
The  Devil  he  grinned  behind  the  bars,  and  banked  the  fires 

high: 
"Did  ye  read  of  that  sin  in  a  book?"  said  he;  and  Tomlinson 

said,  "Ay!" 

The  Devil  he  blew  upon  his  nails,  and  the  little  devils  ran, 
And  he  said:     "Go  husk  this  whimpering  thief  that  comes  in 

the  guise  of  a  man: 
"Winnow  him  out  'twixt  star  and  star,  and  sieve  his  proper 

worth : 
"There's  sore  decline  in  Adam's  line  if  this  be  spawn  of 

earth." 

Empusa's  crew,  so  naked-new  they  may  not  face  the  fire, 
But  weep  that  they  bin  too  small  to  sin  to  the  height  of  their 

desire, 

Over  the  coal  they  chased  the  Soul,  and  racked  it  all  abroad, 
As  children  rifle  a  caddis-case  or  the  raven's  foolish  hoard 
And  back  they  came  with  the  tattered  Thing,  as  children 

after  play, 

And  they  said:     "The  soul  that  he  got  from  God  he  has  bar- 
tered clean  away. 
"We  have  threshed  a  stook  of  print  and  book,  and  winnowed 

a  chattering  wind, 

"And  many  a  soul  wherefrom  he  stole,  but  his  we  cannot  find. 
"  We  have  handled  him,  we  have  dandled  him,  we  have  seared 

him  to  the  bone, 


416  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"And  Sire,  if  tooth  and  nail  show  truth  he  has  no  soul  of  his 

own." 
The  Devil  he  bowed  his  head  on  his  breast  and  rumbled  deep 

and  low: — 

"I'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should  bid  him  go. 
"Yet  close  we  lie,  and  deep  we  lie,  and  if  I  gave  him  place, 
"  My  gentlemen  that  are  so  proud  would  flout  me  to  my  face; 
"They'd  call  my  house  a  common  stews  and  me  a  careless 

host, 
"And — I  would  not  anger  my  gentlemen  for  the  sake  of  a 

shiftless  ghost." 
The  Devil  he  looked  at  the  mangled  Soul  that  prayed  to  feel 

the  flame, 
And  he  thought  of  Holy  Charity,  but  he  thought  of  his  own 

good  name: — 

"  Now  ye  could  haste  my  coal  to  waste,  and  sit  ye  down  to  fry. 
"  Did  ye  think  of  that  theft  for  yourself?"  said  he;  and  Tom- 

linson  said,  "Ay!" 
The  Devil  he  blew  an  outward  breath,  for  his  heart  was  free 

from  care: — 
"Ye  have  scarce  the  soul  of  a  louse,"  he  said,  "but  the  roots 

of  sin  are  there. 

"And  for  that  sin  should  ye  come  in  were  I  the  lord  alone. 
"But  sinful  pride  has  rule  inside — ay,  mightier  than  my  own. 
"Honour  and  Wit,  fore-damned  they  sit,  to  each  his  Priest 

and  Whore; 
"Nay,  scarce  I  dare  myself  go  there,  and  you  they'd  torture 

sore. 
"Ye  are  neither  spirit  nor  spirk,"  he  said;  "ye  are  neither 

book  nor  brute — 
"Go,  get  ye  back  to  the  flesh  again  for  the  sake  of  Man's 

repute. 
"I'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should  mock  your 

pain, 

"  But  look  that  ye  win  to  worthier  sin  ere  ye  come  back  again. 
"Get  hence,  the  hearse  is  at  your  door — the  grim  black  stal- 
lions wait — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  417 

'They  bear  your  clay  to  place  to-day.     Speed,  lest  ye  come 

too  late! 
'  Go  back  to  Earth  with  a  lip  unsealed — go  back  with  an  open 

eye, 
'And  carry  my  word  to  the  Sons  of  Men  or  ever  ye  come  to 

die: 
'That  the  sin  they  do  by  two  and  two  they  must  pay  for  one 

by  one, 
'And     ...     the  God  that  you  took  from  a  printed  book 

be  with  you,  Tomlinson!" 


EN-DOR 

'Behold  there  is  a  woman  that  hath  a  familiar  spirit  at  En-dor."     i  Samuel, 
xxviii.    7. 

'jpHE  road  to  En-dor  is  easy  to  tread 

For  Mother  or  yearning  Wife. 
There,  it  is  sure,  we  shall  meet  our  Dead 

As  they  were  even  in  life. 
Earth  has  not  dreamed  of  the  blessing  in  store 
For  desolate  hearts  on  the  road  to  En-dor. 

Whispers  shall  comfort  us  out  of  the  dark — 

Hands — ah  God! — that  we  knew! 
Visions  and  voices — look  and  hark! — 

Shall  prove  that  the  tale  is  true, 
And  that  those  who  have  passed  to  the  further  shore 
May  be  hailed — at  a  price — on  the  road  to  En-dor. 

But  they  are  so  deep  in  their  new  eclipse 

Nothing  they  say  can  reach, 
Unless  it  be  uttered  by  alien  lips 

And  framed  in  a  stranger's  speech. 
The  son  must  send  word  to  the  mother  that  bore, 
Through  an  hireling's  mouth.     Tis  the  rule  of  En-dor. 


4i 8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  not  for  nothing  these  gifts  are  shown 

By  such  as  delight  our  dead. 
They  must  twitch  and  stiffen  and  slaver  and  groan 

Ere  the  eyes  are  set  in  the  head, 
And  the  voice  from  the  belly  begins.     Therefore, 
We  pay  them  a  wage  where  they  ply  at  En-dor. 

Even  so,  we  have  need  of  faith 

And  patience  to  follow  the  clue. 
Often,  at  first,  what  the  dear  one  saith 

Is  babble,  or  jest,  or  untrue. 
(Lying  spirits  perplex  us  sore 

Till    our    loves — and    their    lives — are    well-known    at 
En-dor).     .     .     . 

Oh  the  road  to  En-dor  is  the  oldest  road 

And  the  craziest  road  of  all ! 
Straight  it  runs  to  the  Witch* s  abode^ 

As  it  did  in  the  days  of  Sau/, 
And  nothing  has  changed  of  the  sorrow  in  store 
For  such  as  go  down  on  the  road  to  En-dor  ! 


TH 


E  FEMALE  OF  THE  SPECIES 
1911 

\X7'HEN  the  Himalayan  peasant  meets  the  he-bear  in  his 

pride, 

He  shouts  to  scare  the  monster,  who  will  often  turn  aside. 
But  the  she-bear  thus  accosted  rends  the  peasant  tooth  and 

nail. 
For  the  female  of  the  species  is  more  deadly  than  the  male. 

When  Nag  the  basking  cobra  hears  the  careless  foot  of  man, 
He  will  sometimes  wriggle  sideways  and  avoid  it  if  he  can. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  419 

But  his  mate  makes  no  such  motion  where  she  camps  beside 

the  trail. 
For  the  female  of  the  species  is  more  deadly  than  the  male. 

When  the  early  Jesuit  fathers  preached  to  Hurons  and  Choc- 
taws, 

They  prayed  to  be  delivered  from  the  vengeance  of  the 
squaws. 

'Twas  the  women,  not  the  warriors,  turned  those  stark  en- 
thusiasts pale. 

For  the  female  of  the  species  is  more  deadly  than  the  male. 

Man's  timid  heart  is  bursting  with  the  things  he  must  not  say, 
For  the  Woman  that  God  gave  him  isn't  his  to  give  away; 
But  when  hunter  meets  with  husband,  each  confirms  the 

other's  tale — 
The  female  of  the  species  is  more  deadly  than  the  male. 

Man,  a  bear  in  most  relations — worm  and  savage  otherwise, — 
Man  propounds  negotiations,  Man  accepts  the  compromise. 
Very  rarely  will  he  squarely  push  the  logic  of  a  fact 
To  its  ultimate  conclusion  in  unmitigated  act. 

Fear,  or  foolishness,  impels  him,  ere  he  lay  the  wicked  low, 
To  concede  some  form  of  trial  even  to  his  fiercest  foe. 
Mirth  obscene  diverts  his  anger — Doubt  and  Pity  oft  perplex 
Him  in  dealing  with  an  issue — to  the  scandal  of  The  Sex! 

But  the  Woman  that  God  gave  him,  every  fibre  of  her  frame 
Proves  her  launched  for  one  sole  issue,  armed  and  engined  for 

the  same; 

And  to  serve  that  single  issue,  lest  the  generations  fail, 
The  female  of  the  species  must  be  deadlier  than  the  male. 

She  who  faces  Death  by  torture  for  each  life  beneath  her 

breast 
May  not  deal  in  doubt  or  pity — must  not  swerve  for  fact  or 

jest. 


420  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

These  be  purely  male  diversions — not  in  these  her  honour 

dwells. 
She  the  Other  Law  we  live  by,  is  that  Law  and  nothing  else. 


She  can  bring  no  more  to  living  than  the  powers  that  make 
her  great 

As  the  Mother  of  the  Infant  and  the  Mistress  of  the  Mate. 

And  when  Babe  and  Man  are  lacking  and  she  strides  un- 
claimed to  claim 

Her  right  as  femme  (and  baron),  her  equipment  is  the  same. 


She  is  wedded  to  convictions — in  default  of  grosser  ties; 
Her  contentions  are  her  children,  Heaven  help  him  who 

denies ! — 
He  will  meet  no  suave  discussion,  but  the  instant,  white-hot, 

wild, 
Wakened  female  of  the  species  warring  as  for  spouse  and- 

child. 


Unprovoked  and  awful  charges — even  so  the  she-bear  fights, 
Speech  that  drips,  corrodes,  and  poisons — even  so  the  cobra 

bites, 

Scientific  vivisection  of  one  nerve  till  it  is  raw 
And  the  victim  writhes  in  anguish — like  the  Jesuit  with  the 

squaw ! 


So  it  comes  that  Man,  the  coward,  when  he  gathers  to  confer 

With  his  fellow-braves  in  council,  dare  not  leave  a  place  for 
her 

Where,  at  war  with  Life  and  Conscience,  he  uplifts  his  erring 
hands 

To  some  God  of  Abstract  Justice — which  no  woman  under- 
stands. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  421 

And  Man  knows  it!     Knows,  moreover,  that  the  Woman 

that  God  gave  him 
Must  command  but  may  not  govern — shall  enthral  but  not 

enslave  him. 
And  She  knows,  because  She  warns  him,  and  Her  instincts 

never  fail, 
That  the  Female  of  Her  Species  is  more  deadly  than  the  Male. 


A  RECANTATION 

1917 

(TO  LYDE  OF  THE  MUSIC  HALLS) 

JJ/'HAT  boots  it  on  the  Gods  to  call? 

Since,  answered  or  unheard, 
We  perish  with  the  Gods  and  all 
Things  made — except  the  Word. 


Ere  certain  Fate  had  touched  a  heart 

By  fifty  years  made  cold, 
I  judged  thee,  Lyde,  and  thy  art 
O'erblown  and  over-bold. 


But  he — but  he,  of  whom  bereft 

I  suffer  vacant  days — 
He  on  his  shield  not  meanly  left — • 

He  cherished  all  thy  lays. 

Witness  the  magic  coffer  stocked 

With  convoluted  runes 
Wherein  thy  very  voice  was  locked 

And  linked  to  circling  tunes. 


422  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Witness  thy  portrait,  smoke-defiled, 
That  decked  his  shelter-place. 

Life  seemed  more  present,  wrote  the  child, 
Beneath  thy  well-known  face. 

And  when  the  grudging  days  restored 

Him  for  a  breath  to  home, 
He,  with  fresh  crowds  of  youth,  adored 

Thee  making  mirth  in  Rome. 


Therefore,  I  humble,  join  the  hosts, 

Loyal  and  loud,  who  bow 
To  thee  as  Queen  of  Song — and  ghosts, 

For  I  remember  how 


Never  more  rampant  rose  the  Hall 

At  thy  audacious  line 
Than  when  the  news  came  in  from  Gaul 

Thy  son  had — followed  mine. 

But  thou  didst  hide  it  in  thy  breast 
And,  capering,  took  the  brunt 

Of  blaze  and  blare,  and  launched  the  jest 
That  swept  next  week  the  front. 

Singer  to  children !  Ours  possessed 
Sleep  before  noon — but  thee, 

Wakeful  each  midnight  for  the  rest, 
No  holocaust  shall  free! 


Yet  they  who  use  the  Word  assigned, 

To  hearten  and  make  whole, 
Not  less  than  Gods  have  served  mankind. 

Though  vultures  rend  their  soul. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  423 

THE  EXPLANATION 

1890 

TOVE  and  Death  once  ceased  their  strife 

At  the  Tavern  of  Man's  Life. 
Called  for  wine,  and  threw — alas! — 
Each  his  quiver  on  the  grass. 
When  the  bout  was  o'er  they  found 
Mingled  arrows  strewed  the  ground. 
Hastily  they  gathered  then 
Each  the  loves  and  lives  of  men. 
Ah,  the  fateful  dawn  deceived! 
Mingled  arrows  each  one  sheaved. 
Death's  dread  armoury  was  stored 
With  the  shafts  he  most  abhorred; 
Love's  light  quiver  groaned  beneath 
Venom-headed  darts  of  Death. 
Thus  it  was  they  wrought  our  woe 
At  the  Tavern  long  ago. 
Tell  me,  do  our  masters  know, 
Loosing  blindly  as  they  fly, 
Old  men  love  while  young  men  die? 


A  PILGRIM'S  WAY 

T  DO  not  look  for  holy  saints  to  guide  me  on  my  way, 
Or  male  and  female  devilkins  to  lead  my  feet  astray. 
If  these  are  added,  I  rejoice — if  not,  I  shall  not  mind, 
So  long  as  I  have  leave  and  choice  to  meet  my  fellow-kind. 
For  as  we  come  and  as  we  go  (and  deadly-soon  go  we!) 
The  people,  Lord,  Thy  people,  are  good  enough  for  me ! 


424  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Thus  I  will  honour  pious  men  whose  virtue  shines  so  bright 
(Though  none  are  more  amazed  than  I  when  I  by  chance  do 

right), 

And  I  will  pity  foolish  men  for  woe  their  sins  have  bred 
(Though  ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  mine  I  brought  on  my  own 

head). 

And,  Amorite  or  Eremite,  or  General  Averagee, 
The  people,  Lord,  Thy  people,  are  good  enough  for  me! 

And  when  they  bore  me  overmuch,  I  will  not  shake  mine  ears, 

Recalling  many  thousand  such  whom  I  have  bored  to  tears. 

And  when  they  labour  to  impress,  I  will  not  doubt  nor  scoff; 

Since  I  myself  have  done  no  less  and — sometimes  pulled  it  off. 
Yea,  as  we  are  and  we  are  not,  and  we  pretend  to  be, 
The  people,  Lord,  Thy  people,  are  good  enough  for  me! 

And  when  they  work  me  random  wrong,  as  oftentimes  hath 

been, 

I  will  not  cherish  hate  too  long  (my  hands  are  none  too  clean). 
And  when  they  do  me  random  good  I  will  not  feign  surprise. 
No  more  than  those  whom  I  have  cheered  with  wayside 

charities. 

But,  as  we  give  and  as  we  take — whate'er  our  takings  be — 
The  people,  Lord,  Thy  people,  are  good  enough  for  me! 

But  when  I  meet  with  frantic  folk  who  sinfully  declare 
There  is  no  pardon  for  their  sin,  the  same  I  will  not  spare 
Till  I  have  proved  that  Heaven  and  Hell  which  in  our  hearts 

we  have 

Show  nothing  irredeemable  on  either  side  the  grave. 
For  as  we  live  and  as  we  die — if  utter  Death  there  be — 
The  people,  Lord,  Thy  people,  are  good  enough  for  me ! 

Deliver  me  from  every  pride — the  Middle,  High,  and  Low — 
That  bars  me  from  a  brother's  side,  whatever  pride  he  show. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  425 

And  purge  me  from  all  heresies  of  thought  and  speech  and  pen 
That  bid  me  judge  him  otherwise  than  I  am  judged.     Amen  I 
That  I  may  sing  of  Crowd  or  King  or  road-borne  company, 
That  I  may  labour  in  my  day,  vocation  and  degree, 
To  prove  the  same  in  deed  and  name,  and  hold  unshakenly 
(Where'er  I  go,  whate'er  I  know,  whoe'er  my  neighbour  be) 
This  single  faith  in  Life  and  Death  and  to  Eternity: 
"The  people,  Lord,  Thy  people,  are  good  enough  for  me!" 


THE  ANSWER 

1892 


A 


ROSE,  in  tatters  on  the  garden  path, 

Cried  out  to  God  and  murmured  'gainst  His  Wrath, 
Because  a  sudden  wind  at  twilight's  hush 
Had  snapped  her  stem  alone  of  all  the  bush. 
And  God,' Who  hears  both  sun-dried  dust  and  sun, 
Had  pity,  whispering  to  that  luckless  one. 
"Sister,  in  that  thou  sayest  We  did  not  well — 
What  voices  heardst  thou  when  thy  petals  fell?" 
And  the  Rose  answered,  "In  that  evil  hour 
"A  voice  said,  'Father,  wherefore  falls  the  flower? 
"'For  lo,  the  very  gossamers  are  still.' 
"And  a  voice  answered,  'Son,  by  Allah's  W7ill!"' 

Then  softly  as  a  rain-mist  on  the  sward, 

Came  to  the  Rose  the  Answer  of  the  Lord: 

"Sister,  before  We  smote  the  Dark  in  twain, 

"Ere  yet  the  stars  saw  one  another  plain, 

"Time,  Tide,  and  Space,  We  bound  unto  the  task 

"That  thou  shouldst  fall,  and  such  an  one  should  ask." 

Whereat  the  withered  flower,  all  content, 

Died  as  they  die  whose  days  are  innocent; 

While  he  who  questioned  why  the  flower  fell 

Caught  hold  of  God  and  saved  his  soul  from  Hell. 


426  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


MARY'S  SON 

1911 

TF  YOU  stop  to  find  out  what  your  wages  will  be 

And  how  they  will  clothe  and  feed  you, 
Willie,  my  son,  don't  you  go  on  the  Sea, 
For  the  Sea  will  never  need  you. 

If  you  ask  for  the  reason  of  every  command, 

And  argue  with  people  about  you, 
Willie,  my  son,  don't  you  go  on  the  Land, 

For  the  Land  will  do  better  without  you. 

If  you  stop  to  consider  the  work  you  have  done 
And  to  boast  what  your  labour  is  worth,  dear, 

Angels  may  come  for  you,  Willie,  my  son, 
But  you'll  never  be  wanted  on  Earth,  dear! 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  SEA 

1890 

*1PHE  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 
And  the  widow  watched  beside; 
And  her  mother  slept,  and  the  Channel  swept 
The  gale  in  the  teeth  of  the  tide. 

But  the  mother  laughed  at  all. 

"I  have  lost  my  man  in  the  sea, 
"And  the  child  is  dead.     Be  still,"  she  said, 

"What  more  can  ye  do  to  me?" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  427 

The  widow  watched  the  dead, 

And  the  candle  guttered  low, 
And  she  tried  to  sing  the  Passing  Song 

That  bids  the  poor  soul  go. 

And  "Mary  take  you  now,"  she  sang, 

"That  lay  against  my  heart." 
And  "Mary  smooth  your  crib  to-night," 

But  she  could  not  say  "Depart." 

Then  came  a  cry  from  the  sea, 

But  the  sea-rime  blinded  the  glass, 
And  "Heard  ye  nothing,  mother?"  she  said, 

"'Tis  the  child  that  waits  to  pass." 


And  the  nodding  mother  sighed. 

"'Tis  a  lambing  ewe  in  the  whin, 
"  For  why  should  the  christened  soul  cry  out 

"That  never  knew  of  sin?" 


"O  feet  I  have  held  in  my  hand, 
"O  hands  at  my  heart  to  catch, 

"How  should  they  know  the  road  to  go, 
"And  how  should  they  lift  the  latch?" 


They  laid  a  sheet  to  the  door, 

With  the  little  quilt  atop, 
That  it  might  not  hurt  from  the  cold  or  the  dirt, 

But  the  crying  would  not  stop. 

The  widow  lifted  the  latch 

And  strained  her  eyes  to  see, 
And  opened  the  door  on  the  bitter  shore 

To  let  the  soul  go  free. 


428  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

There  was  neither  glimmer  nor  ghost, 
There  was  neither  spirit  nor  spark, 

And  "Heard  ye  nothing,  mother?"  she  said, 
"'Tis  crying  for  me  in  the  dark." 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed: 

"  'Tis  sorrow  makes  ye  dull; 
"Have  ye  yet  to  learn  the  cry  of  the  tern, 

"Or  the  wail  of  the  wind-blown  gull?" 

"The  terns  are  blown  inland, 

"The  grey  gull  follows  the  plough. 

"'T  was  never  a  bird,  the  voice  I  heard, 
"O  mother,  I  hear  it  now!" 

"Lie  still,  dear  lamb,  lie  still; 

"The  child  is  passed  from  harm, 
"'Tis  the  ache  in  your  breast  that  broke  your  rest, 

"And  the  feel  of  an  empty  arm." 

She  put  her  mother  aside, 

"In  Mary's  name  let  be! 
"For  the  peace  of  my  soul  I  must  go,"  she  said, 

And  she  went  to  the  calling  sea. 

In  the  heel  of  the  wind-bit  pier, 
Where  the  twisted  weed  was  piled, 

She  came  to  the  life  she  had  missed  by  an  hour 
For  she  came  to  a  little  child. 


She  laid  it  into  her  breast, 

And  back  to  her  mother  she  came, 

But  it  would  not  feed  and  it  would  not  heed, 
Though  she  gave  it  her  own  child's  name. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  429 

And  the  dead  child  dripped  on  her  breast, 
And  her  own  in  the  shroud  lay  stark; 

And  "God  forgive  us,  mother,"  she  said, 
"We  let  it  die  in  the  dark!" 


THE  KING 

i  894 

"pAREWELL,   Romance!   the   Cave-men   said; 

"With  bone  well  carved  he  went  away, 
"Flint  arms  the  ignoble  arrowhead, 

"And  jasper  tips  the  spear  to-day. 
"Changed  are  the  Gods  of  Hunt  and  Dance, 
"And  He  with  these.     Farewell,  Romance!" 

"Farewell,  Romance!"  the  Lake-folk  sighed; 

"We  lift  the  weight  of  flatting  years; 
"The  caverns  of  the  mountain-side 

"Hold  Him  who  scorns  our  hutted  piers. 
"Lost  hills  whereby  we  dare  not  dwell, 
"Guard  ye  His  rest.     Romance,  Farewell!" 

"Farewell,  Romance!"  the  Soldier  spoke; 

"By  sleight  of  sword  we  may  not  win, 
"But  scuffle  'mid  uncleanly  smoke 

"Of  arquebus  and  culverin. 
"Honour  is  lost,  and  none  may  tell 
"Who  paid  good  blows.     Romance,  farewell!" 

"Farewell,  Romance!"  the  Traders  cried; 

"Our  keels  have  lain  with  every  sea; 
"The  dull-returning  wind  and  tide 

"Heave  up  the  wharf  where  we  would  be; 
"The  known  and  noted  breezes  swell 
"Our  trudging  sails.     Romance,  farewell!" 


430  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Good-bye,  Romance!"  the  Skipper  said; 

"He  vanished  with  the  coal  we  burn. 
"Our  dial  marks  full-steam  ahead, 

"Our  speed  is  timed  to  half  a  turn. 
"Sure  as  the  ferried  barge  we  ply 
"'Twixt  port  and  port.     Romance,  good-bye!" 

"Romance!"  the  season-tickets  mourn, 

"He  never  ran  to  catch  his  train, 
"But  passed  with  coach  and  guard  and  horn — 

"And  left  the  local — late  again!" 
Confound  Romance!     .     .     .     And  all  unseen 
Romance  brought  up  the  nine-fifteen. 

His  hand  was  on  the  lever  laid, 

His  oil-can  soothed  the  worrying  cranks, 

His  whistle  waked  the  snowbound  grade, 
His  fog-horn  cut  the  reeking  Banks; 

By  dock  and  deep  and  mine  and  mill 

The  Boy-god  reckless  laboured  still! 

Robed,  crowned  and  throned,  He  wove  his  spell, 
Where  heart-blood  beat  or  hearth-smoke  curled, 

With  unconsidered  miracle, 

Hedged  in  a  backward-gazing  world: 

Then  taught  his  chosen  bard  to  say: 

"Our  King  was  with  us — yesterday!" 


THE  LAST  RHYME  OF  TRUE  THOMAS 

i  893 

*1PHE  King  has  called  for  priest  and  cup, 

The  King  has  taken  spur  and  blade 
To  dub  True  Thomas  a  belted  knight, 
And  all  for  the  sake  o'  the  songs  he  made. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  431 

They  have  sought  him  high,  they  have  sought  him  low, 
They  have  sought  him  over  down  and  lea. 

They  have  found  him  by  tfie  milk-white  thorn 
That  guards  the  gates  o'  Faerie. 


'  Twa s  bent  beneath  and  blue  above, 

Their  eyes  were  held  that  they  might  not  see 

The  kine  that  grazed  beneath  the  knowes, 
Oh,  they  were  the  Queens  o'  Faerie! 

"Now  cease  your  song,"  the  King  he  said, 
"Oh,  cease  your  song  and  get  you  dight 

"To  vow  your  vow  and  watch  your  arms, 
"For  I  will  dub  you  a  belted  knight. 

"For  I  will  give  you  a  horse  o'  pride, 

"Wi*  blazon  and  spur  and  page  and  squire; 

"Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  law, 
"And  land  to  hold  at  your  desire." 

True  Thomas  smiled  above  his  harp, 
And  turned  his  face  to  the  naked  sky, 

Where,  blown  before  the  wastrel  wind 
The  thistle-down  she  floated  by. 

"I  ha'  vowed  my  vow  in  another  place, 

"And  bitter  oath  it  was  on  me. 
"I  ha'  watched  my  arms  the  lee-long  night, 

"Where  five-score  fighting  men  would  flee. 

"My  lance  is  tipped  o'  the  hammered  flame, 
"My  shield  is  beat  o'  the  moonlight  cold; 

"And  I  won  my  spurs  in  the  Middle  World, 
"A  thousand  fathom  beneath  the  mould. 


432  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  horse  o'  pride, 
"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  sword  so  brown, 

"But  spill  the  rings  o'  the  Gentle  Folk 
"And  flyte  my  kin  in  the  Fairy  Town? 

"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  blazon  and  belt, 

"Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  fee, 

*And  what  should  I  do  wi'  page  and  squire 

"That  am  a  king  in  my  own  countrie? 

"For  I  send  east  and  I  send  west, 
"And  I  send  far  as  my  will  may  flee, 

"By  dawn  and  dusk  and  the  drinking  rain, 
"And  syne  my  Sendings  return  to  me. 

"They  come  wi'  news  of  the  groanin'  earth, 
"They  come  wi'  news  o'  the  roarin'  sea, 

"  Wi'  word  of  Spirit  and  Ghost  and  Flesh, 
"And  man,  that's  mazed  among  the  three." 

The  King  he  bit  his  nether  lip, 

And  smote  his  hand  upon  his  knee: 

"By  the  faith  o'  my  soul,  True  Thomas,"  he  said, 
"Ye  waste  no  wit  in  courtesie! 


"As  I  desire,  unto  my  pride, 

"Can  I  make  Earls  by  three  and  three, 
*To  run  before  and  ride  behind 

"And  serve  the  sons  o'  my  body." 

"And  what  care  I  for  your  row-foot  earls, 
"Or  all  the  sons  o'  your  body? 

"Before  they  win  to  the  Pride  o'  Name, 
"I  trow  they  all  ask  leave  o'  me. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  433 

"'For  I  make  Honour  wi'  muckle  mouth, 

"As  I  make  Shame  wi'  mincin'  feet, 
"To  sing  wi'  the  priests  at  the  market-cross, 

"Or  run  wi'  the  dogs  in  the  naked  street. 

"And  some  they  give  me  the  good  red  gold, 
"And  some  they  give  me  the  white  money, 

"And  some  they  give  me  a  clout  o'  meal, 
"For  they  be  people  of  low  degree. 

"And  the  song  I  sing  for  the  counted  gold 
"The  same  I  sing  for  the  white  money, 

"But  best  I  sing  for  the  clout  o'  meal 
"That  simple  people  given  me." 

The  King  cast  down  a  silver  groat, 

A  silver  groat  o'  Scots  money, 
"If  I  come  wi'  a  poor  man's  dole,"  he  said, 

"True  Thomas,  will  ye  harp  to  me?" 

"Whenas  I  harp  to  the  children  small, 

"They  press  me  close  on  either  hand. 
"And  who  are  you,"  True  Thomas  said, 

"That  you  should  ride  while  they  must  stand? 

''Light  down,  light  down  from  your  horse  o'  pride, 

"I  trow  ye  talk  too  loud  and  hie, 
"And  I  will  make  you  a  triple  word, 

"And  syne,  if  ye  dare,  ye  shall  'noble  me." 

He  has  lighted  down  from  his  horse  o'  pride, 

And  set  his  back  against  the  stone. 
"Now  guard  you  well,"  True  Thomas  said, 

"Ere  I  rax  your  heart  from  your  breast-bone!" 


434  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp, 
The  fairy  harp  that  couldna  lee, 

And  the  first  least  word  the  proud  King  heard, 
It  harpit  the  salt  tear  out  o'  his  e'e. 

"Oh,  I  see  the  love  that  I  lost  long  syne, 
"I  touch  the  hope  that  I  may  not  see, 

"And  all  that  I  did  of  hidden  shame, 
"Like  little  snakes  they  hiss  at  me. 


"The  sun  is  lost  at  noon — at  noon! 

"The  dread  o'  doom  has  grippit  me. 
"True  Thomas,  hide  me  under  your  cloak, 

"God  wot,  I'm  little  fit  to  dee!" 

'Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above — 
'Twas  open  field  and  running  flood — 

Where^  hot  on  heath  and  dyke  and  wall, 
The  high  sun  warmed  the  adder  s  brood. 

"Lie  down,  lie  down,"  True  Thomas  said. 

"The  God  shall  judge  when  all  is  done, 
"But  I  will  bring  you  a  better  word 

"And  lift  the  cloud  that  I  laid  on." 


True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp, 
That  birled  and  brattled  to  his  hand, 

And  the  next  least  word  True  Thomas  made, 
It  garred  the  King  take  horse  and  brand. 

"Oh,  I  hear  the  tread  o'  the  fighting-men, 
"I  see  the  sun  on  splent  and  spear. 

"I  mark  the  arrow  outen  the  fern 
"That  flies  so  low  and  sings  so  clear! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  435 

"Advance  my  standards  to  that  war, 

"And  bid  my  good  knights  prick  and  ride; 

"The  gled  shall  watch  as  fierce  a  fight 
"  As  e'er  was  fought  on  the  Border  side!" 

'Twas  bent  beneath  and  blue  above, 

'  Twas  nodding  grass  and  naked  sky, 
Where,  ringing  up  the  wastrel  mind, 

The  eyass  stooped  upon  the  pye. 

True  Thomas  sighed  above  his  harp, 

And  turned  the  song  on  the  midmost  string; 

And  the  last  least  word  True  Thomas  made, 
He  harpit  his  dead  youth  back  to  the  King. 

"Now  I  am  prince,  and  I  do  well 

"To  love  my  love  withouten  fear; 
"To  walk  with  man  in  fellowship, 

"And  breathe  my  horse  behind  the  deer. 

"My  hounds  they  bay  unto  the  death, 
"The  buck  has  couched  beyond  the  burn, 

"My  love  she  waits  at  her  window 
"To  wash  my  hands  when  I  return. 

"For  that  I  live  am  I  content 

"  (Oh !  I  have  seen  my  true  love's  eyes) 

"To  stand  wi'  Adam  in  Eden-glade, 
"And  run  in  the  woods  o'  Paradise!" 


'  Twas  naked  sky  and  nodding  grass, 
'Twas  running  flood  and  wastrel  wind, 

Where,  checked  against  the  open  pass, 
The  red  deer  turned  to  wait  the  hind. 


436  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

True  Thomas  laid  his  harp  away, 
And  louted  low  at  the  saddle-side; 

He  ha_-  taken  stirrup  and  hauden  rein, 
And  set  the  King  on  his  horse  o'  pride. 

"Sleep  ye  or  wake,"  True  Thomas  said, 
"That  sit  so  still,  that  muse  so  long? 

"Sleep  ye  or  wake? — till  the  Latter  Sleep 
"I  trow  ye'll  not  forget  my  song. 

"I  ha'  harpit  a  shadow  out  o'  the  sun 
"To  stand  before  your  face  and  cry; 

"  I  ha'  armed  the  earth  beneath  your  heel, 
"And  over  your  head  I  ha'  dusked  the  sky. 

"I  ha'  harpit  ye  up  to  the  Throne  o'  God, 
"I  ha'  harpit  your  midmost  soul  in  three; 

"I  ha'  harpit  ye  down  to  the  Hinges  o'  Hell, 
"And — ye — would — make — a  Knight  o'  me!' 


THE  SONS  OF  MARTHA 

'IPHE  Sons  of  Mary  seldom  bother,  for  they  have  inherited 

that  good  part; 
But  the  Sons  of  Martha  favour  their  Mother  of  the  careful 

soul  and  the  troubled  heart. 
And  because  she  lost  her  temper  once,  and  because  she  was 

rude  to  the  Lord  her  Guest, 
Her  Sons  must  wait  upon  Mary's  Sons,  world  without  end, 

reprieve,  or  rest. 

It  is  their  care  in  all  the  ages  to  take  the  buffet  and  cushion 

the  shock. 
It  is  their  care  that  the  gear  engages;  it  is  their  care  that  the 

switches  lock. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  437 

It  is  their  care  that  the  wheels  run  truly;  it  is  their  care  to 

embark  and  entrain, 
Tally,  transport,  and  deliver  duly  the  Sons  of  Mary  by  land 

and  main. 

They  say  to  mountains,  "Be  ye  removed."    They  say  to  the 

lesser  floods  "Be  dry." 
Under  their  rods  are  the  rocks  reproved — they  are  not  afraid 

of  that  which  is  high. 
Then  do  the  hill-tops  shake  to  the  summit — then  is  the  bed 

of  the  deep  laid  bare, 
That  the  Sons  of  Mary  may  overcome  it,  pleasantly  sleeping 

and  unaware. 

They  finger  death  at  their  gloves'  end  where  they  piece  and 

repiece  the  living  wires. 
He  rears  against  the  gates  they  tend:  they  feed  him  hungry 

behind  their  fires. 
Early  at  dawn,  ere  men  see  clear,  they  stumble  into  his 

terrible  stall, 
And  hale  him  forth  like  a  haltered  steer,  and  goad  and  turn 

him  till  evenfall. 


To  these  from  birth  is  Belief  forbidden;  from  these  till  death  is 
Relief  afar. 

They  are  concerned  with  matters  hidden — under  the  earth- 
line  their  altars  are: 

The  secret  fountains  to  follow  up,  waters  withdrawn  to  restore 
to  the  mouth, 

And  gather  the  floods  as  in  a  cup,  and  pour  them  again  at  a 
city's  drouth. 

They  do  not  preach  that  their  God  will  rouse  them  a  little 

before  the  nuts  work  loose. 
They  do  not  teach  that  His  Pity  allows  them  to  leave  their 

job  when  they  dam-well  choose. 


438  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

As  in  the  thronged  and  the  lighted  ways,  so  in  the  dark  and 

the  desert  they  stand, 
Wary  and  watchful  all  their  days  that  their  brethren's  days 

may  be  long  in  the  land. 

Raise  ye  the  stone  or  cleave  the  wood  to  make  a  path  more 
fair  or  flat; 

Lo,  it  is  black  already  with  blood  some  Son  of  Martha  spilled 
for  that! 

Not  as  a  ladder  from  earth  to  Heaven,  not  as  a  witness  to  any 
creed, 

But  simple  service  simply  given  to  his  own  kind  In  their  com- 
mon need. 


And  the  Sons  of  Mary  smile  and  are  blessed — they  know  the 

angels  are  on  their  side. 
They  know  in  them  is  the  Grace  confessed,  and  for  them  are 

the  Mercies  multiplied. 
They  sit  a,t  the  Feet — they  hear  the  Word — they  see  how 

truly  the  Promise  runs. 
They  have  cast  their  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and — the  Lord 

He  lays  it  on  Martha's  Sons! 


THE  PALACE 

1902 

"\\7HEN  I  was  King  and  a  Mason — a  Master  proven  and 

okilled— 

I  cleared  me  ground  for  a  Palace  such  as  a  King  should  build. 
I  decreed  and  dug  down  to  my  levels.     Presently,  under  the 

silt, 
I  came  on  the  wreck  of  a  Palace  such  as  a  King  had  built. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  439 

There  was  no  worth  in  the  fashion — there  was  no  wit  in  the 

plan — 

Hither  and  thither,  aimless,  the  ruined  footings  ran — 
Masonry,  brute,  mishandled,  but  carven  on  every  stone: 
"After  me  cometh  a  Builder.    Tell him ,  /  too  have  known" 

Swift  to  my  use  in  my  trenches,  where  my  well-planned 

ground-works  grew, 
I  tumbled  his  quoins  and  his  ashlars,  and  cut  and  reset  them 

anew. 

Lime  I  milled  of  his  marbles;  burned  it,  slacked  it,  and  spread; 
Taking  and  leaving  at  pleasure  the  gifts  of  the  humble  dead. 

Yet  I  despised  not  nor  gloried;  yet,  as  we  wrenched  them 

apart, 
I  read  in  the  razed  foundations  the  heart  of  that  builder's 

heart. 

As  he  had  risen  and  pleaded,  so  did  I  understand 
The  form  of  the  dream  he  had  followed  in  the  face  of  the  thing 

he  had  planned. 


When  I  was  a  King  and  a  Mason — in  the  open  noon  of  my 

pride, 
They  sent  me  a  Word  from  the  Darkness — They  whispered 

and  called  me  aside. 
They  said — "The  end  is  forbidden."     They  said — "Thy  use 

is  fulfilled. 
"Thy  Palace  shall  stand  as  that  other's — the  spoil  of  a  King 

who  shall  build." 

I  called  my  men  from  my  trenches,  my  quarries,  my  wharves, 

and  my  sheers. 
All  I  had  wrought  I  abandoned  to  the  faith  of  the  faithless 

years. 

Only  I  cut  on  the  timber — only  I  carved  on  the  stone: 
"After  me  cometh  a  Builder.     Tell  him,  I  too  have  known  /" 


440  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


EPITAPHS  OF  THE  WAR 

"EQUALITY  OF  SACRIFICE" 

A.     "I  was  a  Have.'"     B.     "I  was  a  "have-not.'" 

(Together.}       "What  hast   thou  given  which   I  gave 
not?" 

A  SERVANT 

We  were  together  since  the  War  began. 
He  was  my  servant — and  the  better  man. 

A  SON 

My  son  was  killed  while  laughing  at  some  jest.     I  would  I 

knew 
What  it  was,  and  it  might  serve  me  in  a  time  when  jests  are 

few. 

AN  ONLY  SON 

I  have  slain  none  except  my  Mother.     She 
(Blessing  her  slayer)  died  of  grief  for  me. 

EX-CLERK 

Pity  not!    The  Army  gave 
Freedom  to  a  timid  slave: 
In  which  Freedom  did  he  find 
Strength  of  body,  will,  and  mind: 
By  which  strength  he  came  to  prove 
Mirth,  Companionship,  and  Love: 
For  which  Love  to  Death  he  went: 
In  which  Death  he  lies  content. 

THE  WONDER 

Body  and  Spirit  I  surrendered  whole 

To  harsh  Instructors — and  received  a  soul     .     .     . 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  441 

If  mortal  man  could  change  me  through  and  through 
From  all  I  was — what  may  The  God  not  do? 

HINDU  SEPOY  IN  FRANCE 

This  man  in  his  own  country  prayed  we  know  not  to  what 

Powers. 
We  pray  Them  to  reward  him  for  his  bravery  in  ours. 

THE  COWARD 

I  could  not  look  on  Death,  which  being  known, 
Men  led  me  to  him,  blindfold  and  alone. 

SHOCK 

My  name,  my  speech,  my  self  I  had  forgot. 
My  wife  and  children  came — I  knew  them  not. 
I  died.     My  Mother  followed.     At  her  call 
And  on  her  bosom  I  remembered  all. 

A  GRAVE  NEAR  CAIRO 

Gods  of  the  Nile,  should  this  stout  fellow  here 
Get  out — get  out!     He  knows  not  shame  nor  fear. 

PELICANS  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 
(A  GRAVE  NEAR  HALFA) 

The  blown  sand  heaps  on  me,  that  none  may  learn 

Where  I  am  laid  for  whom  my  children  grieve.     .     .     . 

O  wings  that  beat  at  dawning,  ye  return 
Out  of  the  desert  to  your  young  at  eve! 

THE  FAVOUR 

Death  favoured  me  from  the  first,  well  knowing  I  could  not 

endure 

To  wait  on  him  day  by  day.     He  quitted  my  betters  and 
came 


442  ^         RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Whistling  over  the  fields,  and,  when  he  had  made  all  sure, 
"Thy  line  is  at  end,"  he  said,  "  but  at  least  I  have  saved  its 
name." 

THE   BEGINNER 

On  the  first  hour  of  my  first  day 

In  the  front  trench  I  fell. 
(Children  in  boxes  at  a  play 

Stand  up  to  watch  it  well.) 

R.  A.  F.  (AGED  EIGHTEEN) 

Laughing  through  clouds,  his  milk-teeth  still  unshed, 
Cities  and  men  he  smote  from  overhead. 
His  deaths  delivered,  he  returned  to  play 
Childlike,  with  childish  things  now  put  away. 

THE  REFINED  MAN 

I  was  of  delicate  mind.     I  stepped  aside  for  my  needs, 
Disdaining  the  common  office.     I  was  seen  from  afar  and 

killed.     .     .     . 
How  is  this  matter  for  mirth?     Let  each  man  be  judged  by 

his  deeds. 

I  have  paid  my  price  to  live  with  myself  on  the  terms  that  I 
willed. 

NATIVE  WATER-CARRIER  (M.  E.  F.) 

Prometheus  brought  down  fire  to  men. 

This  brought  up  water. 
The  Gods  are  jealous — now,  as  then, 

Giving  no  quarter. 

BOMBED  IN  LONDON 

On  land  and  sea  I  strove  with  anxious  care 
To  escape  conscription.     It  was  in  the  air! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  443 

THE  SLEEPY  SENTINEL 

Faithless  the  watch  that  I  kept:  now  I  have  none  to  keep. 
I  was  slain  because  I  slept:  now  I  am  slain  I  sleep. 
Let  no  man  reproach  me  again,  whatever  watch  is  unkept — 
I  sleep  because  I  am  slain.     They  slew  me  because  I  slept. 

BATTERIES  OUT  OF  AMMUNITION 

If  any  mourn  us  in  the  workshop,  say 
We  died  because  the  shift  kept  holiday. 

COMMON  FORM 

If  any  question  why  we  died, 
Tell  them,  because  our  fathers  lied. 

A  DEAD  STATESMAN 

I  could  not  dig:  I  dared  not  rob: 
Therefore  I  lied  to  please  the  mob. 
Now  all  my  lies  are  proved 'untrue 
And  I  must  face  the  men  I  slew. 
What  tale  shall  serve  me  here  among 
Mine  angry  and  defrauded  young? 

THE  REBEL 

If  I  had  clamoured  at  Thy  Gate 

For  gift  of  Life  on  Earth, 
And,  thrusting  through  the  souls  that  wait, 

Flung  headlong  into  birth — 
Even  then,  even  then,  for  gin  and  snare 

About  my  pathway  spread, 
Lord,  I  had  mocked  Thy  thoughtful  care 

Before  I  joined  the  Dead! 
But  now?     ...     I  was  beneath  Thy  Hand 

Ere  yet  the  Planets  came. 
And  now — though  Planets  pass,  I  stand 

The  witness  to  Thy  shame. 


RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


THE  OBEDIENT 

Daily,  though  no  ears  attended, 

Did  my  prayers  arise. 
Daily,  though  no  fire  descended 

Did  I  sacrifice. 
Though  my  darkness  did  not  lift, 

Though  I  faced  no  lighter  odds, 
Though  the  Gods  bestowed  no  gift, 
None  the  less, 

None  the  less,  I  served  the  Gods! 


A  DRIFTER  OFF  TARENTUM 

He  from  the  wind-bitten  north  with  ship  and  companions 

descended. 

Searching  for  eggs  of  death  spawned  by  invisible  hulls. 
Many  he  found  and  drew  forth.     Of  a  sudden  the  fishery 

ended 

In  flame  and  a  clamorous  breath  not  new  to  the  eye-pecking 
gulls. 

DESTROYERS  IN  COLLISION 

For  Fog  and  Fate  no  charm  is  found 

To  lighten  or  amend. 
I,  hurrying  to  my  bride,  was  drowned — 

Cut  down  by  my  best  friend. 


CONVOY  ESCORT 

I  was  a  shepherd  to  fools 
Causelessly  bold  or  afraid. 

They  would  not  abide  by  my  rules. 
Yet  they  escaped.     For  I  stayed. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  445 


UNKNOWN  FEMALE  CORPSE 

Headless,  lacking  foot  and  hand, 
Horrible  I  come  to  land. 
I  beseech  all  women's  sons 
Know  I  was  a  mother  once. 


RAPED  AND  REVENGED 

One  used  and  butchered  me:  another  spied 
Me  broken — for  which  thing  an  hundred  died. 
So  it  was  learned  among  the  heathen  hosts 
How  much  a  freeborn  woman's  favour  costs. 


SALONIKAN  GRAVE 

I  have  watched  a  thousand  days 

Push  out  and  crawl  into  night 

Slowly  as  tortoises. 

Now  I,  too,  follow  these. 

It  is  fever,  and  not  the  fight — 

Time,  not  battle — that  slays. 


THE  BRIDEGROOM 

Call  me  not  false,  beloved, 

If,  from  thy  scarce-known  breast 

So  little  time  removed, 
In  other  arms  I  rest. 


For  this  more  ancient  bride 
Whom  coldly  I  embrace 

Was  constant  at  my  side 
Before  I  saw  thy  face. 


446  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


Our  marriage,  often  set — 

By  miracle  delayed — 
At  last  is  consummate, 

And  cannot  be  unmade. 

Live,  then,  whom  Life  shall  cure, 

Almost,  of  Memory, 
And  leave  us  to  endure 

Its  immortality. 


V.  A.  D.  (MEDITERRANEAN) 

Ah,  would  swift  ships  had  never  been,  for  then  we  ne'er  had 

found, 

These  harsh  ^Egean  rocks  between,  this  little  virgin  drowned, 
Whom  neither  spouse  nor  child  shall  mourn,  but  men  she 

nursed  through  pain 
And — certain  keels  for  whose  return  the  heathen  look  in  vain. 


JUSTICE 

OCTOBER,     1918 

A 'CROSS  a  world  where  all  men  grieve 

And  grieving  strive  the  more. 
The  great  days  range  like  tides  and  leave 

Our  dead  on  every  shore. 
Heavy  the  load  we  undergo, 

And  our  own  hands  prepare^ 
If  we  have  parley  with  the  foe , 
The  load  our  sons  must  bear. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  447 

Before  we  loose  the  word 

That  bids  new  worlds  to  birth, 
Needs  must  we  loosen  first  the  sword 

Of  Justice  upon  earth; 
Or  else  all  else  is  vain 

Since  life  on  earth  began, 
And  the  spent  world  sinks  back  again 

Hopeless  of  God  and  Man. 


A  People  and  their  King 

Through  ancient  sin  grown  strong, 
Because  they  feared  no  reckoning 

Would  set  no  bound  to  wrong; 
But  now  their  hour  is  past, 

And  we  who  bore  it  find 
Evil  Incarnate  held  at  last 

To  answer  to  mankind. 


For  agony  and  spoil 

Of  nations  beat  to  dust, 
For  poisoned  air  and  tortured  soil 

And  cold,  commanded  lust, 
And  every  secret  woe 

The  shuddering  waters  saw — 
Willed  and  fulfilled  by  high  and  low — 

Let  them  relearn  the  Law. 


That  when  the  dooms  are  read, 

Not  high  nor  low  shall  say: — 
"  My  haughty  or  my  humble  head 

Has  saved  me  in  this  day." 
That,  till  the  end  of  time, 

Their  remnant  shall  recall 
Their  fathers'  old,  confederate  crime 

Availed  them  not  at  all. 


448  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

That  neither  schools  nor  priests, 

Nor  Kings  may  build  again 
A  people  with  the  heart  of  beasts 

Made  wise  concerning  men. 
Whereby  our  dead  shall  sleep 

In  honour,  unbetrayed, 
And  we  in  faith  and  honour  keep 

That  peace  for  which  they  paid. 


SEVEN  WATCHMEN 

1918 

CEVEN  Watchmen  sitting  in  a  tower, 

Watching  what  had  come  upon  mankind, 
Showed  the  Man  the  Glory  and  the  Power, 

And  bade  him  shape  the  Kingdom  to  his  mind. 
"All  things  on  Earth  your  will  shall  win  you." 

('Twas  so  their  council  ran) 
"But  the  Kingdom — the  Kingdom  is  within  you," 

Said  the  Man's  own  mind  to  the  Man. 

For  time — and  some  time — 
As  it  was  in  the  bitter  years  before 

So  it  shall  be  in  the  over-sweetened  hour — 
That  a  man's  mind  is  wont  to  tell  him  more 

Than  Seven  Watchmen  sitting  in  a  tower. 

TO  THOMAS  ATKINS 

(Prelude  to  Barrack  Room  Ballads} 

T  HAVE  made  for  you  a  song, 
And  it  may  be  right  or  wrong. 
But  only  you  can  tell  me  if  it's  true; 
I  have  tried  for  to  explain 
Both  your  pleasure  and  your  pain, 
And,  Thomas,  here's  my  best  respects  to  you  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  449 

0  there'!/  surely  come  a  day 

When  they' II  give  you  all  your  pay y 
And  treat  you  as  a  Christian  ought  to  do; 

So,  until  that  day  comes  round, 

Heaven  keep  you  safe  and  sound, 
And,  Thomas,  here's  my  best  respects  to  you  ! 


BOBS 

(Field  Marshal  Lord  Roberts  of  Kandahar) 

HTHERE'S  a  little  red-faced  man, 

Which  is  Bobs, 
Rides  the  tallest  'orse  'e  can — 

Our  Bobs. 

If  it  bucks  or  kicks  or  rears, 
'E  can  sit  for  twenty  years 
With  a  smile  round  both  'is  ears — 

Can't  yer,  Bobs? 

Then  'ere's  to  Bobs  Bahadur — little  Bobs,  Bobs,  Bobs! 
'E's  our  pukka  Kandahader — 

Fightin'  Bobs,  Bobs,  Bobs! 
'E's  the  Dook  of  Aggy  Che/1; 
'E's  the  man  that  done  us  well, 
An'  we'll  follow  'im  to  'ell — 

Won't  we,  Bobs? 

If  a  limber's  slipped  a  trace, 

'Ook  on  Bobs. 
If  a  marker's  lost  'is  place, 

Dress  by  Bobs. 

'Get  ahead. 


450  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  Vs  eyes  all  up  'is  coat, 
An'  a  bugle  in  'is  throat, 
An'  you  will  not  play  the  goat 
Under  Bobs. 

'E's  a  little  down  on  drink 
Chaplain  Bobs; 
But  it  keeps  us  outer  Clink — 

Don't  it,  Bobs? 
So  we  will  not  complain 
Tho'  'e's  water  on  the  brain, 
If  'e  leads  us  straight  again — 
Blue-light  Bobs. 

If  you  stood  'im  on  'is  head, 

Father  Bobs, 
You  could  spill  a  quart  of  lead 

Outer  Bobs. 

'E's  been  at  it  thirty  years, 
An-amassin'  souveneers 
In  the  way  o'  slugs  an'  spears — 

Ain't  yer  Bobs? 

What  'e  does  not  know  o'  war, 

Gen'ral  Bobs, 
You  can  arst  the  shop  next  door — 

Can't  they,  Bobs? 
Oh,  'e's  little  but  he's  wise; 
'E's  terror  for  'is  size, 
An ' — 'e — does — not — advertize — 

Do  yer,  Bobs? 

Now  they've  made  a  bloomin'  Lord 

Outer  Bobs, 
Which  was  but  'is  fair  reward — 

Weren't  it,  Bobs? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  451 

So  Vll  wear  a  coronet 
Where  'is  'elmet  used  to  set; 
But  we  know  you  won't  forget — 
Will  yer,  Bobs? 


Then  'ere's  to  Bobs  Bahadur — little  Bobs,  Bobs,  Bobs, 
Pocket-Wellin'ton  'an  arder* — 

Fightin'  Bobs,  Bobs,  Bobs! 
This  ain't  no  bloomin'  ode, 
But  you've  'elped  the  soldier's  load, 
An'  for  benefits  bestowed, 

Bless  yer,  Bobs! 


DANNY  DEEVER 

\\7"HAT  are  the  bugles  blowin'  for?"  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"To  turn  you  out,  to  turn  you  out,"  the  Colour-Sergeant 

said. 

"What  makes  you  look  so  white,  so  white?"  said  Files-on- 
Parade. 
"I'm  dreadin'  what  I've  got  to  watch,"  the  Colour-Sergeant 

said. 
For  they're  hangin*  Danny  Deever,  you  can  hear  the 

Dead  March  play, 
The  regiment's  in  'ollow  square — they're  hangin'  him 

to-day; 

They've  taken  of  his  buttons  off  an'  cut  his  stripes  away, 
An'  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin'. 

'And  a  half. 


452  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"What  makes  the  rear-rank  breathe  so  'ard?"  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 

"It's  bitter  cold,  it's  bitter  cold,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
"What  makes  that  front-rank  man  fall  down?"  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 

"A  touch  o'  sun,  a  touch  o'  sun,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  they  are  marchin'  of 

'im  round, 
They  'ave  'alted  Danny  Deever  by  'is  coffin  on  the 

ground; 
An'  'e'll  swing  in  'arf  a  minute  for  a  sneakin'  shootin' 

hound — 
O  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin'! 

"  'Is  cot  was  right-'and  cot  to  mine,"  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"'E's  sleepin'  out  an'  far  to-night,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
"I've  drunk  'is  beer  a  score  o'  times,"  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"'E's  drinkin'  bitter  beer  alone,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  you  must  mark  'im  to 
'is  place, 

For  'e  shot  a  comrade  sleepin' — you  must  look  'im  in  the 
face; 

Nine  'undred  of  'is  county  an'  the  Regiment's  disgrace, 

While  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin'. 

"What's  that  so  black  agin  the  sun?"  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"It's  Danny  fightin'  'ard  for  life,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
"  What's  that  that  whimpers  over'ead  ? "  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"It's  Danny's  soul  that's  passin'  now,"  the  Colour-Sergeant 

said. 
For  they're  done  with  Danny  Deever,  you  can  'ear  the 

quickstep  play, 

The  regiment's  in  column,  an'  they're  marchin'  us  away; 
Ho!  the  young  recruits  are  shakin',  an'  they'll  want  their 

beer  to-day, 
After  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin' ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  453 

TOMMY 

T  WENT  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o'  beer, 

The  publican  'e  up  an'  sez,  "We  serve  no  red-coats  here." 
The  girls  be'ind  the  bar  they  laughed  an'  giggled  fit  to  die, 
I  outs  into  the  street  again  an'  to  myself  sez  I: 

O  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy,  go 

away"; 
But  it's  "Thank  you,  Mister  Atkins,"  when  the  band 

begins  to  play — 
The  band  begins  to  play,  my  boys,  the  band  begins  to 

play, 

O  it's  "Thank  you,  Mister  Atkins,"  when  the  band 
begins  to  play. 


I  went  into  a  theatre  as  sober  as  could  be, 

They  gave  a  drunk  civilian  room,  but  'adn't  none  for  me; 

They  sent  me  to  the  gallery  or  round  the  music-'alls, 

But  when  it  comes  to  fightin',  Lord!  they'll  shove  me  in  the 

stalls! 
For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy,  wait 

outside"; 
But  it's  "Special  train  for  Atkins"  when  the  trooper's 

on  the  tide — 
The  troopship's  on  the  tide,  my  boys,  the  troopship's  on 

the  tide, 

O  it's  "Special  train  for  Atkins"  when  the  trooper's  on 
the  tide. 


Yes,  makin*  mock  o'  uniforms  that  guard  you  while  you  sleep 
Is  cheaper  than  them  uniforms,  an'  they're  starvation  cheap; 
An'  hustlin'  drunken  soldiers  when  they're  goin'  large  a  bit 
Is  five  times  better  business  than  paradin'  in  full  kit. 


454  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy, 

'ow's  yer  soul?" 
But  it's  "Thin  red  line  of  'eroes"  when  the  drums  begin 

to  "roll — 

The  drums  begin  to  roll,  my  boys,  the  drums  begin  to  roll, 
O  it's  "Thin  red  line  of  'eroes"  when  the  drums  begin  to 

roll. 


We  aren't  no  thin  red  'eroes,  nor  we  aren't  no  blackguards 

too, 

But  single  men  in  barricks,  most  remarkable  like  you; 
An'  if  sometimes  our  conduck  isn't  all  your  fancy  paints, 
Why,  single  men  in  barricks  don't  grow  into  plaster  saints; 
While  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy, 

fall  be'ind," 
But  it's  "Please  to  walk  in  front,  sir,"  when  there's 

trouble  in  the  wind — 
There's  trouble  in  the  wind,  my  boys,  there's  trouble  in 

the  wind, 

Q  it's  "Please  to  walk  in  front,  sir,"  when  there's  trouble 
in  the  wind. 


You  talk  o*  better  food  for  us,  an'  schools,  an'  fires,  an'  all: 
We'll  wait  for  extry  rations  if  you  treat  us  rational. 
Don't  mess  about  the  cook-room  slops,  but  prove  it  to  our  face 
The  Widow's  Uniform  is  not  the  soldier-man's  disgrace. 

For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Chuck  him 

out,  the  brute!" 
But  it's  "Saviour  of  'is  country"  when  the  guns  begin  to 

shoot; 
An'  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  anything  you 

please; 
An'  Tommy  ain't  a  bloomin'  fool — you  bet  that  Tommy 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  455 

"FUZZY-WUZZY" 

(Soudan  Expeditionary  Force} 

\\^E'VE  fought  with  many  men  acrost  the  seas, 

An'  some  of  'em  was  brave  an'  some  was  not: 
The  Pay  than  an'  the  Zulu  an'  Burmese; 

But  the  Fuzzy  was  the  finest  o'  the  lot. 
We  never  got  a  ha'porth's  change  of  'im: 

'E  squatted  in  the  scrub  an'  'ocked  our  'orses, 
'E  cut  our  sentries  up  at  Suakim, 

An'  'e  played  the  cat  an'  banjo  with  our  forces. 

So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your  'ome  in  the 

Soudan; 
You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a  first-class  fightin' 

man; 

We  gives  you  your  certificate,  an'  if  you  want  it  signed 
We'll  come  an'  'ave  a  romp  with  you  whenever  you're 
inclined. 


We  took  our  chanst  among  the  Kyber  'ills, 

The  Boers  knocked  us  silly  at  a  mile, 
The  Burman  give  us  Irriwaddy  chills, 

An'  a  Zulu  impi  dished  us  up  in  style: 
But  all  we  ever  got  from  such  as  they 

Was  pop  to  what  the  Fuzzy  made  us  swaller; 
We  'eld  our  bloomin'  own,  the  papers  say, 

But  man  for  man  the  Fuzzy  knocked  us  'oiler. 

Then  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  .an'  the  missis  and  the 

kid; 

Our  orders  was  to  break  you,  an'  of  course  we  went  an' 
did. 


456  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We  sloshed  you  with  Martinis,  an'  it  wasn't  'ardly  fair; 
But  for  all  the  odds  agin'  you,  Fuzzy- Wuz,  you  broke 
the  square. 

'E  'asn't  got  no  papers  of  'is  own, 

'E  'asn't  got  no  medals  nor  rewards, 
So  we  must  certify  the  skill  Vs  shown, 

In  usin'  of  'is  long  two-'anded  swords: 
When  'e's  'oppin'  in  an'  out  among  the  bush 

With  'is  coffin-'eaded  shield  an'  shovel-spear, 
An  'appy  day  with  Fuzzy  on  the  rush 
Will  last  an  'ealthy  Tommy  for  a  year. 

So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy- Wuzzy,  an'  your  friends  which  are 

no  more, 
If  we  'adn't  lost  some  messmates  we  would  'elp  you  to 

deplore. 
But  give  an'  take's  the  gospel,  an  we'll  call  the  bargain 

fair, 

For  if  you  'ave  lost  more  than  us,  you  crumpled  up  the 
square! 

'E  rushes  at  the  smoke  when  we  let  drive, 

An',  before  we  know,  'e's  'ackin'  at  our  'ead; 
'E's  all  'ot  sand  an'  ginger  when  alive, 

An'  'e's  generally  shammin'  when  'e's  dead. 
'E's  a  daisy,  'e's  a  ducky,  'e's  a  lamb! 

'E's  a  injia-rubber  idiot  on  the  spree, 
'E's  the  on'y  thing  that  doesn't  give  a  damn 
For  a  Regiment  o'  British  Infantree! 

So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy- Wuzzy,  at  your  'ome  in  the 

Soudan; 
You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a  first-class  fightin' 

man; 
An'  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy- Wuzzy,  with  your  'ayrick  'ead 

of  'air — 

You  big  black  boundin'  beggar — for  you  broke  a  British 
square ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  457 

SOLDIER,  SOLDIER 

COLDIER,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"Why  don't  you  march  with  my  true  love?" 
"We're  fresh  from  off  the  ship  an'  'e's,  maybe,  give  the  slip, 
"An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

New  love!     True  love! 

Best  go  look  for  a  new  love, 

The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an*  you'd  better  dry  your 

eyes, 
An*  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love. 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"What  did  you  see  o'  my  true  love?" 

"I  seen  'im  serve  the  Queen  in  a  suit  of  rifle-green, 

"An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"Did  ye  see  no  more  o'  my  true  love?" 

"I  seen  'im  runnin'  by  when  the  shots  begun  to  fly — 

"But  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"Did  aught  take  'arm  to  my  true  love?" 

"I  couldn't  see  the  fight,  for  the  smoke  it  lay  so  white — 

"And  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"I'll  up  an'  tend  to  my  true  love!" 

"  'E's  lying  on  the  dead  with  a  bullet  through  'is  'ead, 

"An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"I'll  down  an'  die  with  my  true  love!" 

"The  pit  we  dug'll  'ide  'im  an'  the  twenty  more  beside  'im — 

"An*  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 


458  RtlDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
"Do  you  bring  no  sign  from  my  true  love?" 
"I  bring  a  lock  of  'air  that  'e  allus  used  to  wear, 
"An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"O  then  I  know  it's  true  I've  lost  my  true  love!" 

"An'  I  tell  you  truth  again — when  you've  lost  the  feel  o'  pain 

"You'd  best  take  me  for  your  new  love." 


True  love!     New  love! 

Best  take  'im  for  a  new  love, 

The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an'  you'd  better  dry  your 

eyes 
An*  you'd  best  take  'im  for  your  new  love. 


SCREW-GUNS 

CMOKIN'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the  mornin' 

cool, 

I  walks  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old  brown  mule, 
With  seventy  gunners  be'ind  me,  an'  never  a  beggar  forgets 
It's  only  the  pick  of  the  Army  that  handles  the  dear  little  pets 

— Tss!  'Tss! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — the  screw-guns  they  all 

love  you! 
So  when  we  call  round  with  a  few  guns,  o'  course  you  will 

know  what  to  do — hoo!  hoo! 
Jest  send  in  your  Chief  an'  surrender — it's  worse  if  you 

fights  or  you  runs: 

You  can  go  where  you  please,  you  can  skid  up  the  trees, 
but  you  don't  get  away  from  the  guns! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  459 

They  sends  us  along  where  the  roads  are,  but  mostly  we  goes 

where  they  ain't. 
We'd  climb  up  the  side  of  a  sign-board  an'  trust  to  the  stick 

o'  the  paint: 
We've  chivied  the  Naga  an'  Looshai,  we've  give  the  Afreedee- 

man  fits, 
For  we  fancies  ourselves  at  two  thousand,  we  guns  that  are 

built  in  two  bits — 'Tss!  'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns     .     .     . 


If  a  man  doesn't  wofK,  why,  we  drills  'im  an'  teaches  'im  'ow 

to  behave; 
If  a  beggar  can't  march,  why,  we  kills  'im  an'  rattles  'im  into 

'is  grave. 
You've  got  to  stand  up  to  our  business  an'  spring  without 

snatchin'  or  fuss. 
D'  you  say  that  you  sweat  with  the  field-guns?     By  God,  you 

must  lather  with  us — 'Tss!  'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns     .     .     . 


The  eagles  is  screamin*  around  us,  the  river's  a-moanin*  be- 
low, 

We're  clear  o*  the  pine  an'  the  oak-scrub,  we're  out  on  the 
rocks  an'  the  snow, 

An'  the  wind  is  as  thin  as  a  whip-lash  what  carries  away  to 
the  plains 

The  rattle  an'  stamp  o'  the  lead-mules — the  jinglety-jink  o' 
the  chains— 'Tss!     'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns     .     .     . 

There's  a  wheel  on  the  Horns  o'  the  Mornin',  an'  a  wheel  on 

the  edge  o'  the  Pit, 
An*  a  drop  into  nothin'  beneath  you  as  straight  as  a  beggar 

can  spit: 


460  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

With  the  sweat  runnin'  out  o'  your  shirt-sleeves,  an'  the  sun 

off  the  snow  in  your  face, 
An'  'arf  o'  the  men  on  the  drag-ropes  to  hold  the  old  gun  in  'er 

place— 'Tss!  'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns     .     .     . 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the  mornin'-cool, 
I  climbs  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old  brown  mule' 
The  monkey  can  say  what  our  road  was — the  wild-goat  'e 

knows  where  we  passed. 

Stand  easy,  you  long-eared  old  darlin's!     Out  drag-ropes! 
With  shrapnel !     Hold  fast— Tss !  Tss ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — the  screw-guns  they 

all  love  you! 
So  when  we  take  tea  with  a  few  guns,  o'  course  you  will 

know  what  to  do — hoo!  hoo! 
Jest  send  in  your  Chief  an'  surrender — it's  worse  if 

you  fights  or  you  runs: 

You  may  hide  in  the  caves,  they'll  be  only  your  graves, 
but  you  can't  get  away  from  the  guns! 


CELLS 

I'VE  a  head  like  a  concertina,  I've  a  tongue  like  a  button- 
stick, 
I've  a  mouth  like  an  old  potato,  and  I'm  more  than  a  little 

sick, 
But  I've  had  my  fun  o'  the  Corp'ral's  Guard;  I've  made  the 

cinders  fly, 
And  I'm  here  in  the  Clink  for  a  thundering  drink  and  blacking 

the  Corporal's  eye. 

With  a  second-hand  overcoat  under  my  head, 
And  a  beautiful  view  of  the  yard, 
O  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.  B. 
For  "drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  461 

Mad  drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard — 

'Strewth,  but  I  socked  it  them  hard! 

So  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.  B. 

For  "drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard." 

I  started  o*  canteen  porter,  I  finished  o'  canteen  beer, 

But  a  dose  o'  gin  that  a  mate  slipped  in,  it  was  that  that 

brought  me  here. 
'Twas  that  and  an  extry  double  Guard  that  rubbed  my  nose 

in  the  dirt — 
But  I  fell  away  with  the  Corp'ral's  stock  and  the  best  of  the 

Corp'ral's  shirt. 

I  left  my  cap  in  a  public-house,  my  boots  in  the  public  road, 
And  Lord  knows  where — and  I  don't  care — my  belt  and  my 

tunic  goed. 
They'll  stop  my  pay,  they'll  cut  away  the  stripes  I  used  to 

wear, 
But  I  left  my  mark  on  the  Corp'ral's  face,  and  I  think  he'll 

keep  it  there! 

My  wife  she  cries  on  the  barrack-gate,  my  kid  in  the  barrack- 
yard, 

It  ain't  that  I  mind  the  Ord'ly  room — it's  that  that  cuts  so 
hard. 

I'll  take  my  oath  before  them  both  that  I  will  sure  abstain, 

But  as  soon  as  I'm  in  with  a  mate  and  gin,  I  know  I'll  do  it 
again ! 

With  a  second-hand  overcoat  under  my  head, 

And  a  beautiful  view  of  the  yard, 
Yes,  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.  B. 

For  "drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard!" 

Mad  drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard — 

'Strewth,  but  I  socked  it  them  hard! 
So  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.  B. 

For  "drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard." 


462  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

GUNGA  DIN 

VOU  may  talk  o'  gin  and  beer 

When  you're  quartered  safe  out  'ere, 
An'  you're  sent  to  penny-fights  an'  Aldershot  it; 
But  when  it  comes  to  slaughter 
You  will  do  your  work  on  water, 
An*  you'll  lick  the  bloomin'  boots  of  'im  that's  got  it. 
Now  in  Injia's  sunny  clime, 
Where  I  used  to  spend  my  time 
A-servin'  of  'Er  Majesty  the  Queen, 
Of  all  them  blackfaced  crew 
The  finest  man  I  knew 
Was  our  regimental  bhisti,  Gunga  Din. 

He  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 
"You  limpin'  lump  o'  brick-dust,  Gunga  Din! 

"Hi!  Slippy  hitherao  I 

"Water,  get  it!     Panee  lao1 
"You  squidgy-nosed  old  idol,  Gunga  Din." 


The  uniform  'e  wore 

Was  nothin'  much  before, 

An'  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind, 

For  a  piece  o'  twisty  rag 

An*  a  goatskin  water-bag 

Was  all  the  field-equipment  'e  could  find. 

When  the  sweatin'  troop-train  lay 

In  a  sidin*  through  the  day, 

Where  the  'eat  would  make  your  bloomin'  eyebrows  crawl, 

We  shouted  "Harry  By!"2 

Till  our  throats  were  bricky-dry, 

Then  we  wopped  'im  'cause  'e  couldn't  serve  us  all. 

'Bring  water  swiftly.  'O  brother. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  463 

It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 
"You  'eathen,  where  the  mischief  'ave  you  been? 

"You  put  some  juldt*lui  it 
"Or  I'll  marrow2  you  this  minute 
"If  you  don't  fill  up  my  helmet,  Gunga  Din!" 


'E  would  dot  an'  carry  one 

Till  the  longest  day  was  done; 

An'  'e  didn't  seem  to  know  the  use  o'  fear. 

If  we  charged  or  broke  or  cut, 

You  could  bet  your  bloomin'  nut, 

'E'd  be  waitin'  fifty  paces  right  flank  rear. 

With  'is  mussick3  on  'is  back, 

'E  would  skip  with  our  attack, 

An*  watch  us  till  the  bugles  made  "Retire" 

An'  for  all  'is  dirty  'ide 

'E  was  white,  clear  white,  inside 

When  'e  went  to  tend  the  wounded  under  fire! 

It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din!" 

With  the  bullets  kickin'  dust-spots  on  the  green 
When  the  cartridges  ran  out, 
You  could  hear  the  front-ranks  shout, 
"Hi!  ammunition-mules  an'  Gunga  Din!" 


I  sha'n't  forgit  the  night 

When  I  dropped  be'ind  the  fight 

\Vith  a  bullet  where  my  belt-plate  should  'a*  been. 

I  was  chokin'  mad  with  thirst, 

An'  the  man  that  spied  me  first 

Was  our  good  old  grinnin',  gruntin'  Gunga  Din. 

'E  lifted  up  my  'ead, 

An'  he  plugged  me  where  I  bled, 

'Be  quick.  'Hit  you.  'Water-skin. 


464  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

An'  'e  guv  me  'arf-a-pint  o'  water  green. 

It  was  crawlin'  and  it  stunk, 

But  of  all  the  drinks  I've  drunk, 

I'm  gratefullest  to  one  from  Gunga  Din. 

It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 

"'Ere's  a  beggar  with  a  bullet  through  'is  spleen; 
"'E's  chawin'  up  the  ground, 
"An'  'e's  kickin'  all  around: 
"For  Gawd's  sake  git  the  water,  Gunga  Din!" 

'E  carried  me  away 

To  where  a  dooli  lay, 

An'  a  bullet  come  an'  drilled  the  beggar  clean. 

'E  put  me  safe  inside, 

An'  just  before  'e  died, 

"I  'ope  you  liked  your  drink,"  sez  Gunga  Din. 

So  I'll  meet  'im  later  on 

At  the  place  where  'e  is  gone — 

Where  it's  always  double  drill  and  no  canteen. 

'E'll  be  squattin'  on  the  coals 

Givin'  drink  to  poor  damned  souls, 

An'  I'll  get  a  swig  in  hell  from  Gunga  Din! 

Yes,  Din!  Din!  Din! 
You  Lazarushian-leather  Gunga  Din! 

Though  I've  belted  you  and  flayed  you, 
By  the  livin'  Gawd  that  made  you, 
You're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  Gunga  Din! 


OONTS 

(Northern  India  Transport  Train) 

"\\^"OT  makes  the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot  makes  'im  to 

perspire? 

It  isn't  standin'  up  to  charge  nor  lyin'  down  to  fire; 
But  it's  everlastin'  waitin'  on  a  everlastin'  road 
For  the  commissariat  camel  an'  'is  commissariat  load. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  465 

O  the  oont,1  O  the  oont,  O  the  commissariat  oont! 
With    'is  silly  neck  a-bobbin'   like   a   basket  full  o' 

snakes; 

We  packs  'im  like  an  idol,  an'  you  ought  to  'ear  'im  grunt, 
An'  when  we  get  'im  loaded  up  'is  blessed  girth-rope 
breaks. 

Wot  makes  the  rear-guard  swear  so  'ard  when  night  is  drorin' 

in, 

An'  every  native  follower  is  shiverin'  for  'is  skin  ? 
It  ain't  the  chanst  o'  being  rushed  by  Paythans  from  the  'ills, 
It's  the  commissariat  camel  puttin'  on  'is  bloomin'  frills! 
O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  hairy  scary  oont! 

A-trippin'  over  tent-ropes  when  we've  got  the  night 

alarm ! 
We  socks  'im  with  a  stretcher-pole  an'  'eads  'im  off  in 

front, 

An'  when  we've  saved  'is  bloomin'  life  'e  chaws  our 
bloomin'  arm. 

The  'orse  'e  knows  above  a  bit,  the  bullock's  but  a  fool, 
The  elephant's  a  gentleman,  the  battery-mule's  a  mule; 
But  the  commissariat  cam-u-el,  when  all  is  said  an'  done, 
'E's  a  devil  an'  a  ostrich  an'  a  orphan-child  in  one. 

O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  Gawd-forsaken  oont! 

The  lumpy-'umpy  'ummin'-bird  a-singin'  where  'e  lies, 
'E's  blocked  the  whole  division  from  the  rear-guard  to 

the  front, 

An'  when  we  get  him  up  again — the  beggar  goes  an' 
dies! 

'E'll  gall  an*  chafe  an'  lame  an'  fight — 'e  smells  most  awful  vile. 

'E'll  lose  'isself  for  ever  if  you  let  'im  stray  a  mile. 

'E's  game  to  graze  the  'ole  day  long  an'  'owl  the  'ole  night 

through. 

An'  when  'e  comes  to  greasy  ground  'e  splits  'isself  in  two. 
'Camel: — oo  is  pronounced  like  u  in  "bull,"  but  by  Mr.  Atkins  to  rhyme 
with  "front." 


466  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  floppin',  droppin'  oont! 
When  'is  long  legs  give  from  under  an'  'is  meltin'  eye 

is  dim, 

The  tribes  is  up  be'ind  us,  and  the  tribes  is  out  in  front — 
It  ain't  no  jam  for  Tommy,  but  it's  kites  an'  crows  for 
'im. 


So  when  the  cruel  march  is  done,  an'  when  the  roads  is  blind, 
An'  when  we  sees  the  camp  in  front  an'  'ears  the  shots  be'ind, 
Ho!  then  we  strips  'is  saddle  off,  and  all  'is  woes  is  past: 
'E  thinks  on  us  that  used  'im  so,  and  gets  revenge  at  last. 
O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  floatin',  bloatin'  oont! 

The  late  lamented  camel  in  the  water-cut  'e  lies; 
We  keeps  a  mile  be'ind  'im  an'  we  keeps  a  mile  in  front, 
But  'e  gets  into  the  drinkin'-casks,  and  then  o'  course 
we  dies. 


LOOT 


F 


YOU'VE  ever  stole  a  pheasant-egg  be'ind  the  keeper's 

back, 

If  you've  ever  snigged  the  washin'  from  the  line, 
If  you've  ever  crammed  a  gander  in  your  bloomin'  'aversack, 

You  will  understand  this  little  song  o'  mine. 
But  the  service  rules  are  'ard,  an'  from  such  we  are  debarred, 
For  the  same  with  English  morals  does  not  suit. 

(Comet:  Toot!  toot!) 
Why,  they  call  a  man  a  robber  if 'e  stuffs  'is  marchin'  clobber1 

With  the— 

(Chorus)  Loo!  loo!     Lulu!  lulu!    Loo!  loo!    Lulu!    Loot! 
loot!  loot! 

Ow  the  loot! 
Bloomin'  loot! 

•Clothes. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  467 

That's  the  thing  to  make  the  boys  git  up  an   shoot! 
It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
Clap  'em  forward  with  a  Loo!  loo!     Lulu!     Loot! 
(ff)     Whoopee!    Tear     'im,    puppy!     Loo!    loo!     Lulu! 
Loot!  loot!  loot! 


If  you've  knocked  a  nigger  edgeways  when  'e  's  thrustin'  for 

your  life, 

You  must  leave  'im  very  careful  where  'e  fell; 
An'  may  thank  your  stars  an'  gaiters  if  you  didn't  feel  'is 

knife 

That  you  ain't  told  off  to  bury  'im  as  well. 
Then  the  sweatin'  Tommies  wonder  as  they  spade  the  beggars 

under 

Why  lootin'  should  be  entered  as  a  crime. 
So,  if  my  song  you'll  'ear,  I  will  learn  you  plain  an  clear 
'Ow  to  pay  yourself  for  fightin'  overtime. 
(Chorus)     With  the  loot,     ... 


Now  remember  when  you're  'acking  round  a  gilded  Burma 

god 

That  'is  eyes  is  very  often  precious  stones; 
An'  if  you  treat  a  nigger  to  a  dose  o'  cleanin'-rod 

'E's  like  to  show  you  everything  'e  owns. 
When  'e  won't  prodooce  no  more,  pour  some  water  on  the 

floor 
Where  you  'ear  it  answer  'ollow  to  the  boot 

(Cornet:  Toot!  toot!) — 
When  the  ground  begins  to  sink,  shove  your  baynick  down 

the  chink, 

An'  you're  sure  to  touch  the — 
(Chorus)  Loo !  loo !    Lulu !    Loot !  loot !  loot ! 
Ow  the  loot!  ,  . 


468  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

When  from  'ouse  to  'ouse  you're  'unting,  you  must  always 

work  in  pairs — 

It  'alves  the  gain,  but  safer  you  will  find — 
For  a  single  man  gets  bottled  on  them  twisty-wisty  stairs, 

An'  a  woman  comes  and  clobs  'im  from  be'ind. 
When  you've  turned  'em  inside  out,  an'  it  seems  beyond  a 

doubt 
As  if  there  weren't  enough  to  dust  a  flute 

(Cornet-.  Toot!  toot!)— 

Before  you  sling  your  'ook,  at  the  'ousetops  take  a  look, 
For  it's  underneath  the  tiles  they  'ide  the  loot. 
(Chorus)     Ow  the  loot!       .     .     . 


You  can  mostly  square  a  Sergint  an'  a  Quartermaster  too, 

If  you  only  take  the  proper  way  to  go. 
7   could  never  keep  my  pickin's,  but  I've  learned  you  all  I 

knew — 

But  don't  you  never  say  I  told  you  so. 
An'  now  I'll  bid  good-bye,  for  I'm  gettin'  rather  dry, 
An'  I  see  another  tunin'  up  to  toot 

(Cornet:  Toot!  toot) — 

So  'ere's  good-luck  to  those  that  wears  the  Widow's  clo'es, 
An'  the  Devil  send  'em  all  they  want  o'  loot! 
(Chorus)     Yes,  the  loot, 
Bloomin'  loot! 

In  the  tunic  an'  the  mess-tin  an'  the  boot! 
It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again. 
(fff}  Whoop  'em  forward  with  a  Loo!  loo!     Lulu!     Loot! 

loot! loot! 

Heeya!     Sick 'im,  puppy!    Loo!    loo!    Lulu!    Loot! 
loot! loot! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  469 

"SNARLEYOW" 

*T*HIS  'appened  in  a  battle  to  a  batt'ry  of  the  corps 

Which  is  first  among  the  women  an'  amazin'  first  in  war; 
An'  what  the  bloomin'  battle  was  I  don't  remember  now, 
But  Two's  off-lead1  'e  answered  to  the  name  o'  Snarleyow* 

Down  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares; 

Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears; 

But  down  in  the  lead  with  the  wheel  at  the  flog 

Turns  the  bold  Bombardier  to  a  little  whipped  dog  I 


They  was  movin'  into  action,  they  was  needed  very  sore, 

To  learn  a  little  schoolin'  to  a  native  army-corps, 

They  'ad  nipped  against  an  uphill,  they  was  tuckin'  down  the 

brow, 
When  a  tricky  trundlin'  roundshot  give  the  knock  to  Snarle- 

yow. 


They  cut  'im  loose  an'  left  'im — 'e  was  almost  tore  in  two — 
But  he  tried  to  follow  after  as  a  well-trained  'orse  should  do; 
'E  went  an'  fouled  the  limber,  an'  the  Driver's  Brother 

squeals: 
"  Pull  up,  pull  up  for  Snarleyow — 'is  head's  between  'is  'eels!" 


The  Driver  'umped  'is  shoulder,  for  the  wheels  was  goin* 

round, 
An'   there  ain't  no   "Stop,   conductor!"   when   a   batt'ry's 

changin'  ground; 

Sez  'e:  "I  broke  the  beggar  in,  an'  very  sad  I  feels, 
"But  I  could  n't  pull  up,  not  for  you — your  'ead  between 

your  'eels!" 

'The  leading  right-hand  horse  of  No.  2  gun. 


470  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

'E  'ad  n't  'ardly  spoke  the  word,  before  a  droppin*  shell 
A  little  right  the  batt'ry  an'  between  the  sections  fell; 
An'  when  the  smoke  'ad  cleared  away,  before  the  limber- 
wheels, 
There  lay  the  Driver's  Brother  with  'is  'ead  between  'is  'eels. 

Then  sez  the  Driver's  Brother,  an'  'is  words  was  very  plain, 
"For  Gawd's  own  sake  get  over  me,  an'  put  me  out  o'  pain." 
They  saw  'is  wounds  was  mortial,  an'  they  judged  that  it  was 

best, 
So  they  took  an'  drove  the  limber  straight  across  'is  back  an' 

chest. 

The  Driver  'e  give  nothin'  'cept  a  little  coughin'  grunt, 
But  'e  swung  'is  'orses  'andsome  when  it  came  to  "Action 

Front!" 

An'  if  one  wheel  was  juicy,  you  may  lay  your  Monday  head 
'T  was  juicier  for  the  niggers  when  the  case  begun  to  spread. 

The  moril  of  this  story,  it  is  plainly  to  be  seen: 
You  'av  n't  got  no  families  when  servin'  of  the  Queen — 
You  'av  n't  got  no  brothers,  fathers,  sisters,  wives,  or  sons — 
If  you  want  to  win  your  battles  take  an'  work  your  bloomin' 
guns! 

Down  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares; 

Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears; 

But  down  in  the  lead  with  the  wheel  at  the  flog 

Turns  the  bold  Bombardier  to  a  little  whipped  dog! 


THE  WIDOW  AT  WINDSOR 

'  AVE  you  'card  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 

With  a  hairy  gold  crown  on  'er  'ead? 
She  'as  ships  on  the  foam — she  'as  millions  at  'ome, 
An'  she  pays  us  poor  beggars  in  red. 
(Ow,  poor  beggars  in  red!) 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  471 

There's  'er  nick  on  the  cavalry  'orses, 

There's  'er  mark  on  the  medical  stores — 
An'  'er  troopers  you'll  find  with  a  fair  wind  be'ind 
That  takes  us  to  various  wars. 
(Poor  beggars! — barbarious  wars!) 

Then  'ere  's  to  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 
An'  'ere  's  to  the  stores  an'  the  guns, 
The  men  an'  the  'orses  what  makes  up  the  forces 

O'  Missis  Victorier's  sons. 
(Poor  beggars!     Victorier's  sons!) 

Walk  wide  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

For  'alf  o'  Creation  she  owns: 

We  'ave  bought  'er  the  same  with  the  sword  an'  the  flame, 
An'  we've  salted  it  down  with  our  bones. 

(Poor  beggars! — it 's  blue  with  our  bones!) 
Hands  off  o'  the  sons  o'  the  widow, 
Hands  off  o'  the  goods  in  'er  shop, 

For  the  Kings  must  come  down  an'  the  Emperors  frown 
When  the  Widow  at  Windsor  says  "Stop!" 
(Poor  beggars! — we're  sent  to  say  "Stop!") 
Then  'ere  's  to  the  Lodge  o'  the  Widow, 

From  the  Pole  to  the  Tropics  it  runs — • 
To  the  Lodge  that  we  tile  with  the  rank  an'  the  file, 

An'  open  in  form  with  the  guns. 
(Poor  beggars! — it's  always  they  guns!) 

We  'ave  'card  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

It's  safest  to  leave  'er  alone: 
For  'er  sentries  we  stand  by  the  sea  an'  the  land 

Wherever  the  bugles  are  blown. 

(Poor  beggars! — an'  don't  we  get  blown!) 
Take  'old  o'  the  Wings  o'  the  Mornin', 

An'  flop  round  the  earth  till  you're  dead; 
But  you  won't  get  away  from  the  tune  that  they  play 

To  the  bloomin'  old  rag  over'ead. 
(Poor  beggars! — it  's  'ot  over'ead!) 


472  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  'ere  's  to  the  sons  o'  the  Widow, 
Wherever,  'owever  they  roam. 

'Ere  's  all  they  desire,  an'  if  they  require 
A  speedy  return  to  their  'ome. 

(Poor  beggars! — they'll  never  see  'ome!) 


BELTS 

HpHERE  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  that's  near  to  Dublin 

Quay, 

Between  an  Irish  regiment  an'  English  cavalree; 
It  started  at  Revelly  an'  it  lasted  on  till  dark: 
The  first  man  dropped  at  Harrison's,  the  last  forninst  the 
Park. 
For  it  was: — "Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  one  for 

you!" 
An'  it  was  "Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  done  for 

you!" 

O  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park! 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — the  regiments  was  out, 
They  called  us  "Delhi  Rebels,"  an'  we  answered  "Threes 

about!" 
That  drew  them  like  a  hornet's  nest — we  met  them  good  an' 

large, 

The  English  at  the  double  an'  the  Irish  at  the  charge. 
Then  it  was: — "Belts,  &c." 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — an'  I  was  in  it  too; 
We  passed  the  time  o'  day,  an'  then  the  belts  went  whirraru! 
I  misremember  what  occurred,  but,  subsequint  the  storm, 
A  Freeman's  Journal  Supplement  was  all  my  uniform. 
O  it  was: — "Belts,  &c." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  473 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — they  sent  the  Polis  there, 
The  English  were  too  drunk  to  know,  the  Irish  did  n't  care; 
But  when  they  grew  impertinint  we  simultaneous  rose, 
Till  half  o'  them  was  Liffey  mud  an'  half  was  tatthered  clo'es. 
For  it  was: — "Belts,  &c." 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  might  ha'  raged  till  now, 
But  some  one  drew  his  side-arm  clear,  an'  nobody  knew  how; 
'T  was  Hogan  took  the  point  an'  dropped;  we  saw  the  red 

blood  run: 

An'  so  we  all  was  murderers  that  started  out  in  fun. 
While  it  was:  "Belts,  &c." 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — but  that  put  down  the 

shine, 
Wid  each  man  whisperin'  to  his  next: — "'T  was  never  work 

o'  mine!" 
We  went  away  like  beaten  dogs,  an'  down  the  street  we  bore 

him, 
The  poor  dumb  corpse  that  couldn't  tell  the  bhoys  were  sorry 

for  him. 

When  it  was: — "Belts,  &c." 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  isn't  over  yet, 
For  half  of  us  are  under  guard  wid  punishments  to  get; 
'T  is  all  a  merricle  to  me  as  in  the  Clink  I  lie: 
There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — begod,  I  wonder  why! 

But  it  was: — "Belts,  belts,  belts,  an*  that's  one  for 
you!" 

An*  it  was  "Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  done  for 
you!" 

O  buckle  an'  tongue 

Was  the  song  that  we  sung 

From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park! 


474  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  YOUNG  BRITISH  SOLDIER 

TX7HEN  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out  to  the  East 

'E  acts  like  a  babe  an'  'e  drinks  like  a  beast, 
An'  'e  wonders  because  'e  is  frequent  deceased 
Ere  'e  's  fit  for  to  serve  as  a  soldier. 
Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 
Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 
Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  of  the  Queen ! 

Now  all  you  recruities  what's  drafted  to-day, 
You  shut  up  your  rag-box  an'  'ark  to  my  lay, 
An'  I'll  sing  you  a  soldier  as  far  as  I  may: 
A  soldier  what's  fit  for  a  soldier. 
Fit,  fit,  fit  for  a  soldier     .     .     . 

First  mind  you  steer  clear  o'  the  grog-sellers'  huts, 
For  they  sell  you  Fixed  Bay'nets  that  rots  out  your  guts- 
Ay,  drink  that  'ud  eat  the  live  steel  from  your  butts — 
An'  it's  bad  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Bad,  bad,  bad  for  the  soldier     .     .     . 

When  the  cholera  comes — as  it  will  past  a  doubt — 
Keep  out  of  the  wet  and  don't  go  on  the  shout, 
For  the  sickness  gets  in  as  the  liquor  dies  out, 
An'  it  crumples  the  young  British  soldier. 

Crum-,  crum-,  crumples  the  soldier     .     .     . 

But  the  worst  o'  your  foes  is  the  sun  over'ead: 
You  must  wear  your  'elmet  for  all  that  is  said: 
If  'e  finds  you  uncovered  Vll  knock  you  down  dead, 
An'  you'll  die  like  a  fool  of  a  soldier. 
Fool,  fool,  fool  of  a  soldier     .     .     . 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  475 

If  you're  cast  for  fatigue  by  a  sergeant  unkind, 
Don't  grouse  like  a  woman  nor  crack  on  nor  blind; 
Be  handy  and  civil,  and  then  you  will  find 

That  it's  beer  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Beer,  beer,  beer  for  the  soldier     .     .     . 

Now,  if  you  must  marry,  take  care  she  is  old — 
A  troop-sergeant's  widow's  the  nicest,  I'm  told, 
For  beauty  won't  help  if  your  rations  is  cold, 
Nor  love  ain't  enough  for  a  soldier. 

'Nough,  'nough,  'nough  for  a  soldier     .     .     . 

If  the  wife  should  go  wrong  with  a  comrade,  be  loth 
To  shoot  when  you  catch  'em — you'll  swing,  on  my  oath! — 
Make  'im  take  'er  and  keep  'er:  that's  Hell  for  them  both. 
An'  you're   shut  o'  the  curse  of  a  soldier. 
Curse,  curse,  curse  of  a  soldier     .     .     . 

When  first  under  fire  an'  you're  wishful  to  duck 
Don't  look  nor  take  'eed  at  the  man  that  is  struck. 
Be  thankful  you're  livin',  and  trust  to  your  luck 
And  march  to  your  front  like  a  soldier. 

Front,  front,  front  like  a  soldier    .     .     . 

When  'arf  of  your  bullets  fly  wide  in  the  ditch, 
Don't  call  your  Martini  a  cross-eyed  old  bitch; 
She's  human  as  you  are — you  treat  her  as  sich, 
An'  she'll  fight  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Fight,  fight,  fight  for  the  soldier     .     .     . 

When  shakin'  their  bustles  like  ladies  so  fine, 
The  guns  o'  the  enemy  wheel  into  line, 
Shoot  low  at  the  limbers  an'  don't  mind  the  shine, 
For  noise  never  startles  the  soldier. 

Start-,  start-,  startles  the  soldier     .     .     . 


476  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

If  your  officer's  dead  and  the  sergeants  look  white, 
Remember  it's  ruin  to  run  from  a  fight: 
So  take  open  order,  lie  down,  and  sit  tight, 
And  wait  for  supports  like  a  soldier. 

Wait,  wait,  wait  like  a  soldier     .     .     . 

When  you're  wounded  and  left  on  Afghanistan's  plains, 
And  the  women  come  out  to  cut  up  what  remains, 
Jest  roll  to  your  rifle  and  blow  out  your  brains 
An'  go  to  your  Gawd  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  of  the  Queen! 


MANDALAY 

"D  Y  THE  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward  to  the 

sea, 

There's  a  Burma  girl  a-settin',  and  I  know  she  thinks  o'  me; 
For  the  wind  is  in  the  palm-trees,  and  the  temple-bells  they 

say: 

"Come  you  back,  you  British  soldier;  come  you  back  to 
Mandalay!" 

Come  you  back  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay: 

Can't  you  'ear  their  paddles  chunkin'  from  Rangoon 

to  Mandalay? 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 

An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer  China 
'crost  the  Bay! 

7Er  petticoat  was  yaller  an'  'er  little  cap  was  green, 
An'  'er  name  was  Supi-yaw-lat — jes'  the  same  as  Theebaw's 
Queen, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  477 

An'  I  seed  her  first  a-smokin'  of  a  whackin'  white  cheroot, 
An'  a-wastin'  Christian  kisses  on  an  'eathen  idol's  foot: 
Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud — 
Wot  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd — 
Plucky  lot  she  cared  for  idols  when  I  kissed  'er  where 

she  stud! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay     .     .     . 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice-fields  an'  the  sun  was  droppin* 

slow, 

She'd  git  'er  little  banjo  an'  she'd  sing  "  Kulla-lo-lo  !  " 
With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder  an'  'er  cheek  agin  my  cheek 
We  useter  watch  the  steamers  an'  the  hathis  pilin'  teak. 

Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 

In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, 

Where  the  silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you  was  'arf  afraid 
to  speak! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay     .     .     . 

But  that's  all  shove  be'ind  me — long  ago  an*  fur  away, 
An'  there  ain't  no  'busses  runnin'  from  the  Bank  to  Man- 
dalay; 

An'  I'm  learnin'  'ere  in  London  what  the  ten-year  soldier  tells: 
"If  you've  'card  the  East  a-callin',  you  won't  never  'eed 
naught  else." 

No!  you  won't  'eed  nothin'  else 

But  them  spicy  garlic  smells, 

An'  the  sunshine  an'  the  palm-trees  an'  the  tinkly 

temple-bells; 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay     .     .     . 

I  am  sick  o'  wastin'  leather  on  these  gritty  pavin'-stones, 
An'  the  blasted  Henglish  drizzle  wakes  the  fever  in  my  bones; 
'Tho'  I  walks  with  fifty  'ousemaids  outer  Chelsea  to  the 

Strand, 
An'  they  talks  a  lot  o'  lovin',  but  wot  do  they  understand? 


478  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Beefy  face  an'  grubby  'and — 

Law!  wot  do  they  understand? 

I've  a  neater,  sweeter  maiden  in  a  cleaner,  greener 

land! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay     .     .     . 

Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez,  where  the  best  is  like  the 

worst, 
Where  there  are  n't  no  Ten  Commandments  an'  a  man  can 

raise  a  thirst; 

For  the  temple-bells  are  callin',an'  it's  there  that  I  would  be — 
By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  looking  laz.y  at  the  sea; 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay, 
With  our  sick  beneath  the  awnings  when  we  went  to 

Mandalay! 

O  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 

An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer  China 
'crost  the  Bay! 


TROOPIN' 

(Old  English  Army  in  the  East) 

',  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea: 
'Ere's  September  come  again — the  six-year  men  are  free. 
O  leave  the  dead  be'ind  us,  for  they  cannot  come  away 
To  where  the  ship's  a-coalin'  up  that  takes  us  'ome  to-day. 
We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 
An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 
Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 
My  lovely  Mary-Ann, 
For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 
As  a  time-expired  man. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  479 

The  Malabar  s  in  'arbour  with  the  Jumner  at  'er  tail, 
An'  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  'is  orders  for  to  sail. 
Ho!  the  weary  waitin'  when  on  Khyber  'ills  we  lay, 
But  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  'is  orders  'ome  to-day. 

They'll  turn  us  out  at  Portsmouth  wharf  in  cold  an'  wet  an* 

rain, 

All  wearin'  Injian  cotton  kit,  but  we  will  not  complain. 
They'll  kill  us  of  pneumonia — for  that's  their  little  way — 
But  damn  the  chills  and  fever,  men,  we're  goin'  'ome  to-day! 

Troopin',  troopin',  winter's  round  again! 

See  the  new  draf's  pourin'  in  for  the  old  campaign; 

Ho,  you  poor  recruities,  but  you've  got  to  earn  your  pay — 

What's  the  last  from  Lunnon,  lads  ?    We're  goin'  there  to-day. 

Troopin',  troopin',  give  another  cheer — 
'Ere's  to  English  women  an'  a  quart  of  English  beer. 
The  Colonel  an'  the  Regiment  an'  all  who  've  got  to  stay, 
Gawd's  Mercy  strike  'em  gentle —     Whoop!  we're  goin'  'ome 
to-day. 
We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 
An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 
Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary- Ann, 
For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 
As  a  time-expired  man. 


THE  WIDOW'S  PARTY 

"  VV^HERE  have  you  been  this  while  away, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?" 
Out  with  the  rest  on  a  picnic  lay. 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 


480  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  called  us  out  of  the  barrack-yard 
To  Gawd  knows  where  from  Gosport  Hard, 
And  you  can't  refuse  when  you  get  the  card, 

And  the  Widow  gives  the  party. 
(Bugle:  Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara !) 

"What  did  you  get  to  eat  and  drink 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?" 
Standing  water  as  thick  as  ink, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 
A  bit  o'  beef  that  were  three  year  stored, 
A  bit  o'  mutton  as  tough  as  a  board, 
And  a  fowl  we  killed  with  a  sergeant's  sword, 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

"What  did  you  do  for  knives  and  forks, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?" 
We  carries  'em  with  us  wherever  we  walks, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 
And  some  was  sliced  and  some  was  halved, 
And  some  was  crimped  and  some  was  carved, 
And  some  was  gutted  and  some  was  starved, 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

"What  ha'  you  done  with  half  your  mess, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?" 
They  could  n't  do  more  and  they  would  n't  do  less, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 
They  ate  their  whack  and  they  drank  their  fill, 
And  I  think  the  rations  has  made  them  ill, 
For  half  my  comp'ny's  lying  still 

Where  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

"How  did  you  get  away — away, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?" 
On  the  broad  o'  my  back  at  the  end  o'  the  day, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  481 

I  corned  away  like  a  bleedin'  toff, 
For  I  got  four  niggers  to  carry  me  off, 
As  I  lay  in  the  bight  of  a  canvas  trough, 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

"What  was  the  end  of  all  the  show, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?" 
Ask  my  Colonel,  for  I  don't  know, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 
We  broke  a  King  and  we  built  a  road — 
A  court-house  stands  where  the  reg'ment  goed. 
And  the  river's  clean  where  the  raw  blood  flowed 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 
(Bugle:  Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara!) 


FORD  O'  KABUL  RIVER 

IT  ABUL  town's  by  Kabul  river— 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
There  I  lef  my  mate  for  ever, 
Wet  an'  drippin'  by  the  ford. 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
There's  the  river  up  and  brimmin',  an'  there's  'arf 

a  squadron  swimmin' 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Kabul  town's  a  blasted  place — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
'Strewth  I  sha'n't  forget  'is  face 
Wet  an'  drippin'  by  the  ford! 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
Keep  the  crossing-stakes  beside  you,  an'    they  will 

surely  guide  you 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 


482  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Kabul  town  is  sun  and  dust — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
I'd  ha'  sooner  drownded  fust 
'Stead  of  'im  beside  the  ford. 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
You  can  'ear  the  'orses  threshin',  you  can  'ear  the 

men  a-splashin', 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 


Kabul  town  was  ours  to  take — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
I'd  ha'  left  it  for  'is  sake — 
'Im  that  left  me  by  the  ford. 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
It's  none  so   bloomin'   dry   there;   ain't  you   never 

comin'  nigh  there, 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark? 


Kabul  town  '11  go  to  hell — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
'Fore  I  see  him  'live  an'  well — 
'Im  the  best  beside  the  ford. 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
Gawd  'elp  'em  if  they  blunder,  for  their  boots  '11  pull 

'em  under, 
By  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 


Turn  your  'orse  from  Kabul  town — 
Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 

'Im  an'  'arf  my  troop  is  down, 
Down  and  drownded  by  the  ford. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  483 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
There's  the  river  low  an'  fallin',  but  it  ain't  no  use 
o'  callin* 

'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 


GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 

THE  legion  of  the  lost  ones,   to   the  cohort  of  the 
damned, 

To  my  brethren  in  their  sorrow  overseas, 
Sings  a  gentleman  of  England  cleanly  bred,  machinely  cram- 
med, 

And  a  trooper  of  the  Empress,  if  you  please. 
Yes,  a  trooper  of  the  forces  who  has  run  his  own  six  horses, 

And  faith  he  went  the  pace  and  went  it  blind, 
And  the  world  was  more  than  kin  while  he  held  the  ready  tin, 
But  to-day  the  Sergeant's  something  less  than  kind. 
We're  poor  little  lambs  who've  lost  our  way, 

Baa!  Baa!  Baa! 
We're  little  black  sheep  who've  gone  astray, 

Baa— aa— aa! 

Gentlemen-rankers  out  on  the  spree, 
Damned  from  here  to  Eternity, 
God  ha'  mercy  on  such  as  we, 
Baa!    Yah!     Bah! 

Oh,  it's  sweet  to  sweat  through  stables,  sweet  to  empty 
kitchen  slops, 

And  it's  sweet  to  hear  the  tales  the  troopers  tell, 
To  dance  with  blowzy  housemaids  at  the  regimental  hops 

And  thrash  the  cad  who  says  you  waltz  too  well. 
Yes,  it  makes  you  cock-a-hoop  to  be  "Rider"  to  your  troop, 

And  branded  with  a  blasted  worsted  spur, 
When  you  envy,O  how  keenly,one  poor  Tommy  living  cleanly 

Who  blacks  your  boots  and  sometimes  calls  you  "Sir." 


484  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

If  the  home  we  never  write  to,  and  the  oaths  we  never  keep, 

And  all  we  know  most  distant  and  most  dear, 
Across  the  snoring  barrack-room  return  to  break  our  sleep, 

Can  you  blame  us  if  we  soak  ourselves  in  beer? 
When  the  drunken  comrade  mutters  and  the  great  guard- 
lantern  gutters 

And  the  horror  of  our  fall  is  written  plain, 
Every  secret,  self-revealing  on  the  aching  whitewashed  ceil- 
ing, 

Do  you  wonder  that  we  drug  ourselves  from  pain? 

We  have  done  with  Hope  and  Honour,  we  are  lost  to  Love 

and  Truth, 

We  are  dropping  down  the  ladder  rung  by  rung, 
And  the  measure  of  our  torment  is  the  measure  of  our  youth. 

God  help  us,  for  we  knew  the  worst  too  young ! 
Our  shame  is  clean  repentance  for  the  crime  that  brought  the 

sentence, 

Our  pride  it  is  to  know  no  spur  of  pride, 
And  the  Curse  of  Reuben  holds  us  till  an  alien  turf  enfolds  us 
And  we  die,  and  none  can  tell  Them  where  we  died. 
We're  poor  little  lambs  who've  lost  our  way, 

Baa!     Baa!     Baa! 
We're  little  black  sheep  who've  gone  astray, 

Baa — aa — aa ! 

Gentlemen-rankers  out  on  the  spree, 
Damned  from  here  to  Eternity, 
God  ha'  mercy  on  such  as  we, 
Baa!    Yah!     Bah! 


ROUTE    MARCHIN' 

E  marchin'  on  relief  over  Injia's  sunny  plains, 
A  little  front  o'  Christmas-time  an' just  be'ind  the  Rains; 
Ho!  get  away  you  bullock-man,  you've 'card  the  bugle blowed, 
There's  a  regiment  a-comin'  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  485 

With  its  best  foot  first 

And  the  road  a-sliding  past, 

An'  every  blooming  campin'-ground  exactly  like  the 

last; 

While  the  Big  Drum  says, 
With  'is  " rowdy-dowdy-dow  !  " — 
"  Kiko  kissywarsti  don't  you  hamsher  argy  jow  ?  "l 

Oh,  there's  them  Injian  temples  to  admire  when  you  see. 
There's  the  peacock  round  the  corner  an*  the  monkey  up  the 

tree, 

An'  there's  that  rummy  silver-grass  a-wavin*  in  the  wind, 
An'  the  old  Grand  Trunk  a-trailin'  like  a  rifle-sling  be'ind. 

While  it's  best  foot  first,     .     .     . 

At  half-past  five's  Revelly,  an'  our  tents  they  down  must 

come, 
Like  a  lot  of  button-mushrooms  when  you  pick  'em  up  at 

'ome. 

But  it's  over  in  a  minute,  an'  at  six  the  column  starts, 
While  the  women  and  the  kiddies  sit  an'  shiver  in  the  carts. 

An  it's  best  foot  first,     .     .     . 

Oh,  then  it's  open  order,  an'  we  lights  our  pipes  an'  sings, 
An'  we  talks  about  our  rations  an'  a  lot  of  other  things, 
An'  we  thinks  o'  friends  in  England,  an'  we  wonders  what 

they're  at, 
An'  'ow  they  would  admire  for  to  hear  us  sling  the  bat.'2' 

An'  it's  best  foot  first,     .     .     . 

It's  none  so  bad  o'  Sundays,  when  you're  lyin'  at  your  ease, 
To  watch  the  kites  a-wheelin'  round  them  feather-'eaded 
trees, 

iWhy  don't  you  get  on?  'Language.     Thomas's  first  and  firmest 

conviction  is  that  he  is  a  profound  Orientalist  and  a  fluent  speaker  of 
Hindustani.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  depends  largely  on  the  sign-language. 


486  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  although  there  ain't  no  women,  yet  there  ain't  nobarrick- 

yards, 
So  the  orficers  goes  shootin'  an'  the  men  they  plays  at  cards. 

Till  it's  best  foot  first,     .     .     . 

So  'ark  an'  'eed,  you  rookies,  which  is  always  grumblin'  sore, 
There's  worser  things  than  marchin'  from  Umballa  to  Cawn- 

pore; 

An'  if  your  'eels  are  blistered  an'  they  feels  to  'urt  like  'ell, 
You  drop  some  tallow  in  your  socks  an'  that  will  make  'em 

well. 

For  it's  best  foot  first,     .     .     . 

We're  marchin'  on  relief  over  Injia's  coral  strand, 

Eight  'undred  fightin'  Englishmen,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Band; 

Ho!  get   away  you   bullock-man,   you've   'card   the   bugle 

blowed, 
There's  a  regiment  a-comin'  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road; 

With  its  best  foot  first 

And  the  road  a-sliding  past, 

An'  every  bloomin'  campin'-ground  exactly  like  the 
last; 

While  the  Big  Drum  says, 

With  'is  "  rowdy -dowdy -dow  !  " — 

"  Kiko  kissywarsti  don't  you  hamsher  argy  jow  ?  " 


SHILLIN'  A  DAY 

NAME  is  O'Kelly,  I've  heard  the  Revelly 
From  Birr  to  Bareilly,  from  Leeds  to  Lahore, 
Hong-Kong  and  Peshawur. 
Lucknow  and  Etawah, 
And  fifty-five  more  all  endin'  in  "pore." 
Black  Death  and  his  quickness,  the  depth  and  the  thickness, 
Of  sorrow  and  sickness  I've  known  on  my  way, 
But  I'm  old  and  I'm  nervis, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  487 

I'm  cast  from  the  Service, 

And  all  I  deserve  is  a  shillin'  a  day. 

(Chorus)     Shillin'  a  day, 

Bloomin'  good  pay — 

Lucky  to  touch  it,  a  shillin'  a  day! 

Oh,  it  drives  me  half  crazy  to  think  of  the  days  I 

Went  slap  for  the  Ghazi,  my  sword  at  my  side, 

When  we  rode  Hell-for-leather 

Both  squadrons  together, 

That  didn't  care  whether  we  lived  or  we  died. 

But  it's  no  use  despairin',  my  wife  must  go  charm' 

An'  me  commissairin',  the  pay-bills  to  better, 

So  if  me  you  be'old 

In  the  wet  and  the  cold, 

By  the  Grand  Metropold  won't  you  give  me  a  letter? 

(Full  chorus)     Give  'im  a  letter — 
x    'Can't  do  no  better, 

Late  Troop-Sergeant-Major   an* — runs   with 

a  letter! 

Think  what  'e's  been, 
Think  what  'e's  seen. 

Think  of  his  pension  an' 

GAWD  SAVE  THE  QUEEN  ! 


"BACK  TO  THE  ARMY  AGAIN" 

I'M  'ere  in  a  ticky  ulster  an'  a  broken  billycock  'at, 

A-layin'  on  to  the  sergeant  I  don't  know  a  gun  from  a  bat; 
My  shirt's  doin'  duty  for  jacket,  my  sock's  stickin'  out  o' 

my  boots, 
An'  I'm  learnin'  the  damned  old  goose-step  along  o'  the  new 

recruits! 


488  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
Don't  look  so  'ard,  for  I  'aven't  no  card, 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

I  done  my  six  years'  service.     'Er  Majesty  sez:  "  Good  day — 
You'll  please  to  come  when  you're  rung  for,  an'  'ere's  your 

'ole  back-pay; 

An*  four-pence  a  day  for  baccy — an'  bloomin'  gen'rous,  too; 
An'  now  you  can  make   your  fortune — the  same  as  your 

orf'cers  do." 


Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
'Ow  did  I  learn  to  do  right-about-turn? 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 


A  man  o'  four-an'- twenty  that  'asn't  learned  of  a  trade — 
Beside  "Reserve"  agin'  him — 'e'd  better  be  never  made. 
I  tried  my  luck  for  a  quarter,  an'  that  was  enough  for  me, 
An'  I  thought  of  'Er  Majesty's  barricks,  an'  I  thought  I'd 
go  an'  see. 


Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
T  isn't  my  fault  if  I  dress  when  I  'alt — 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

The  sergeant  arst  no  questions,  but  'e  winked  the  other  eye, 
'E  sez  to  me,  "Shun!"  an'  I  shunted,  the  same  as  in  days 

gone  by; 
For  'e  saw  the  set  o'  my  shoulders,  an'  I  couldn't  'elp  'oldin' 

straight 
When  me  an'  the  other  rookies  come  under  the  barrick-gate. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  489 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
'Oo  would  ha'  thought  I  could  carry  an'  port?1 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

I  took  my  bath,  an'  I  wallered — for,  Gawd,  I  needed  it  so! 

I  smelt  the  smell  o'  the  barricks,  I  'card  the  bugles  go. 

I  'eard  the  feet  on  the  gravel — the  feet  o'  the  men  what 

drill— 
An'  I  sez  to  my  flutterin'  'eart-strings,  I  sez  to  'em,  "Peace, 

be  still!" 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
'Oo  said  I  knew  when  the  troopship  was  due? 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

I  carried  my  slops  to  the  tailor;  I  sez  to  'im,  "None  o'  your 

lip! 

You  tight  'em  over  the  shoulders,  an '  loose  'em  over  the  'ip, 
For  the  set  o'  the  tunic's  'orrid."     An'  'e  sez  to  me,  "Strike 

me  dead, 
But  I  thought  you  was  used  to  the  business!"  an'  so  'e  done 

what  I  said. 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
Rather  too  free  with  my  fancies?     Wot — me? 

I'm  back  to  the  Army  again! 

Next  week  I'll  'ave  'em  fitted;  I'll  buy  me  a  swagger-cane; 
They'll  let  me  free  o'  the  barricks  to  walk  on  the  Hoe  again 
In  the  name  o'  William  Parsons,  that  used  to  be  Edward  Clay, 
An' — any  pore  beggar  that  wants  it  can  draw  my  fourpence 
a  day! 

1  Carry  and  port  his  rifle. 


490  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
Out  o'  the  cold  an'  the  rain,  sergeant, 

Out  o'  the  cold  an'  the  rain. 

'Oo's  there? 

A  man  that's  too  good  to  be  lost  you, 

A  man  that  is  'andled  an'  made — 
A  man  that  will  pay  what  'e  cost  you 

In  learnin'  the  others  their  trade — parade! 
You're  droppin'  the  pick  o'  the  Army 

Because  you  don't  'elp  'em  remain, 
But  drives  'em  to  cheat  to  get  out  o'  the  street 

An'  back  to  the  Army  again ! 


"BIRDS  OF  PREY"  MARCH 

(Troops for  Foreign  Service) 

IV/fARCH!     The  mud  is  cakin'  good  about  our  trousies. 
Front! — eyes  front,  an'  watch  the  Colour-casin's  drip. 
Front!     The  faces  of  the  women  in  the  'ouses 
Ain't  the  kind  o'  things  to  take  aboard  the  ship. 

Cheer  !    An  we'll  never  march  to  victory. 

Cheer  !    An  we'll  never  live  to  'ear  the  cannon  roar  ! 

The  Large  Birds  o'  Prey 

They  will  carry  us  away, 
An*  you  II  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more  ! 

Wheel!     Oh,  keep  your  touch;  we're  goin'  round  a  corner. 

Time! — mark  time,  an'  let  the  men  be'ind  us  close. 
Lord!     The  transport's  full,  an'  'alf  our  lot  not  on  'er — 

Cheer,  O  cheer!     We're  going  off  where  no  one  knows. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  491 

March!     The  Devil's  none  so  black  as  'e  is  painted! 

Cheer!     We'll  'ave  some  fun  before  we're  put  away. 
'Alt  an'  'and  'er  out — a  woman's  gone  and  fainted! 

Cheer!     Get  on! — Gawd  'elp  the  married  men  to-day! 


Hoi!     Come  up,  you  'ungry  beggars,  to  yer  sorrow. 

('Ear  them  say  they  want  their  tea,  an'  want  it  quick!) 
You  won't  have  no  mind  for  slingers,1  not  to-morrow — 

No;  you'll  put  the  'tween-decks  stove  out,  bein'  sick! 


'Alt!     The  married  kit  'as  all  to  go  before  us! 

'Course  it's  blocked  the  bloomin'  gangway  up  again ! 
Cheer,  O  cheer  the  'Orse  Guards  watchin'  tender  o'er  us, 

Keepin'  us  since  eight  this  mornin'  in  the  rain! 


Stuck  in  'eavy  marchin'-order,  sopped  and  wringin* — 
Sick,  before  our  time  to  watch  'er  'eave  an'  fall, 

'Ere's  your  'appy  'ome  at  last,  an'  stop  your  singin'. 
'Alt!     Fall  in  along  the  troop-deck!     Silence  all! 


Cheer  !    For  we'll  never  live  to  see  no  bloomin'  victory  ! 
Cheer  !    Art  we  II  never  live  to  'ear  the  cannon  roar  ! 
(One  cheer  more  /) 

The  jackal  an'  the  kite 

yAve  an  'ealthy  appetite. 
An'  you'll  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more  !     ('//>  /  Urroar  /) 

The  eagle  an'  the  crow 

They  are  waitin'  ever  so, 
An  you  II  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more  !     ('Ip  Urroar  /) 

Yes,  the  Large  Birds  o'  Prey 

They  will  carry  us  away, 
An'  you  II  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more  ! 

1  Bread  soaked  in  tea. 


492  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"SOLDIER   AN'    SAILOR   TOO" 

(The  Royal  Regiment  of  Marines] 

AS  I  was  spittin'  into  the  Ditch  aboard  o'  the  Crocodile, 
I  seed  a  man  on  a  man-o'-war  got  up  in  the  Reg'lars' 

style. 
'E  was  scrapin'  the  paint  from  off  of  'er  plates,  an'  I  sez  to 

'im,  "'Oo  are  you?" 
Sez  'e,  "I'm  a  Jolly — 'Er  Majesty's  Jolly — soldier  an'  sailor 

too!" 
Now  'is  work  begins  by  Gawd  knows  when,  and  'is  work  is 

never  through; 

'E  isn't  one  o*  the  reg'lar  Line,  nor  'e  isn't  one  of  the  crew. 
'E's  a  kind  of  a  giddy  harumfrodite — soldier  an'  sailor  too! 

An',  after,  I  met  'im  all  over  the  world,  a-doin'  all  kinds  of 

things, 
Like  landin'  'isself  with  a  Gatlin'  gun  to  talk  to  them  'eathen 

kings; 
'E  sleeps  in  an  'ammick  instead  of  a  cot,  an'  'e  drills  with  the 

deck  on  a  slew, 
An'    'e  sweats   like   a  Jolly — 'Er   Majesty's  Jolly — soldier 

an'  sailor  too! 
For  there  isn't  a  job  on  the  top  o'  the  earth  the  beggar  don't 

know,  nor  do — 
You  can  leave  'im  at  night  on  a  bald  man's  'ead,  to  paddle  'is 

own  canoe — 
'E's  a  sort  of  a  bloomin'  cosmopolouse — soldier  an'  sailor 

too. 

We've  fought  'em  in  trooper,  we've  fought  'em  in  dock,  and 

drunk  with  'em  in  betweens, 
When  they  called  us  the  seasick  scuU'ry-maids,  an'  we  called 

'em  the  Ass-Marines; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  493 

But,  when  we  was  down  for  a  double  fatigue,  from  Woolwich 

to  Bernardmyo, 
We  sent  for  the  Jollies — 'Er  Majesty's  Jollies — soldier  an' 

sailor  too! 
They  think  for  'emselves,  an'  they  steal  for  'emselves,  and 

they  never  ask  what's  to  do, 
But  they're  camped  an'  fed  an'  they're  up  an'  fed  before  our 

bugle's  blew. 
Ho!  they  ain't  no  limpin'  procrastitutes — soldier  an'  sailor 

too. 


You  may  say  we  are  fond  of  an  'arness-cut,  or  'ootin'  in 

barrick-yards, 

Or  startin'  a  Board  School  mutiny  along  o'  the  Onion  Guards; 
But  once  in  a  while  we  can  finish  in  style  for  the  ends  of  the 

earth  to  view, 
The    same    as    the   Jollies — 'Er   Majesty's*  Jollies — soldier 

an'  sailor  too! 
They  come  of  our  lot,  they  was  brothers  to  us;  they  was 

beggars  we'd  met  an'  knew; 
Yes,  barrin'  an  inch  in  the  chest  an'  the  arm,  they  was  doubles 

o'  me  an'  you; 
For  they  weren't  no  special  chrysanthemums — soldier  an' 

sailor  too! 


To  take  your  chance  in  the  thick  of  a  rush,  with  firing  all 
about, 

Is  nothing  so  bad  when  you've  cover  to  'and,  an'  leave  an' 
likin'  to  shout; 

But  to  stand  an'  be  still  to  the  Eirkenead  drill  is  a  damn' 
tough  bullet  to  chew, 

An'  they  done  it,  the  Jollies — 'Er  Majesty's  Jollies — sol- 
dier an'  sailor  too! 

Their  work  was  done  when  it  'adn't  begun;  they  was  younger 
nor  me  an'  you; 


494  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Their  choice  it  was  plain  between  drownin'  in  'caps  an*  bein' 

mopped  by  the  screw, 
So  they  stood  an'  was  still  to  the  Eirkenead  drill,  soldier  an' 

sailor  too! 


We're  most  of  us  liars,  we're  'arf  of  us  thieves,  an'  the  rest 

are  as  rank  as  can  be, 
But  once  in  a  while  we  can  finish  in  style  (which  I  'ope  it 

won't  'appen  to  me). 
But  it  makes  you  think  better  o'  you  an'  your  friends,  an'  the 

work  you  may  'ave  to  do, 
When  you  think  o'  the  sinkin'  Victoriers  Jollies — soldier  an' 

sailor  too! 
Now  there  isn't  no  room  for  to  say  ye  don't  know — they 

'ave  proved  it  plain  and  true — 
That,  whether  it's  Widow,  or  whether  it's  ship,  Victorier's 

work  is  to  do, 

An'  they  done  it,  the  Jollies — 'Er  Majesty's  Jollies — sol- 
dier an'  sailor  too! 


SAPPERS 

(Royal  Engineers) 

\\7~HEN  the  Waters  were  dried  an'  the  Earth  did  appeal 

("It's  all  one,"  says  the  Sapper), 
The  Lord  He  created  the  Engineer, 

Her  Majesty's  Royal  Engineer, 

With  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  Sapper! 

When  the  Flood  come  along  for  an  extra  monsoon, 
'T  was  Noah  constructed  the  first  pontoon 
To  the  plans  of  Her  Majesty's,  etc. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  495 

But  after  fatigue  in  the  wet  an'  the  sun, 
Old  Noah  got  drunk,  which  he  wouldn't  ha'  done 
If  he'd  trained  with,  etc. 

When  the  Tower  o'  Babel  had  mixed  up  men's  bat^ 
Some  clever  civilian  was  managing  that, 
An'  none  of,  etc. 

When  the  Jews  had  a  fight  at  the  foot  of  a  hill, 
Young  Joshua  ordered  the  sun  to  stand  still, 
For  he  was  a  Captain  of  Engineers,  etc. 

When  the  Children  of  Israel  made  bricks  without  straw, 
They  were  learnin'  the  regular  work  of  our  Corps, 
The  work  of,  etc. 

For  ever  since  then,  if  a  war  they  would  wage, 
Behold  us  a-shinin'  on  history's  page — 
First  page  for,  etc. 

We  lay  down  their  sidings  an'  help  'em  entrain, 
An'  we  sweep  up  their  mess  through  the  bloomin'  campaign 
In  the  style  of,  etc. 

They  send  us  in  front  with  a  fuse  an'  a  mine 
To  blow  up  the  gates  that  are  rushed  by  the  Line, 
But  bent  by,  etc. 

They  send  us  behind  with  a  pick  an'  a  spade, 
To  dig  for  the  guns  of  a  bullock-brigade 
Which  has  asked  for,  etc. 

We  work  under  escort  in  trousers  and  shirt, 
An*  the  heathen  they  plug  us  tail-up  in  the  dirt, 
Annoying,  etc. 

1  Talk. 


496  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We  blast  out  the  rock  an'  we  shovel  the  mud, 
We  make  'em  good  roads  an' — they  roll  down  the  khud* 
Reporting,  etc. 

We  make  'em  their  bridges,  their  wells,  an'  their  huts, 
An'  the  telegraph-wire  the  enemy  cuts, 
An'  it's  blamed  on,  etc. 

An'  when  we  return,  an'  from  war  we  would  cease, 
They  grudge  us  adornin'  the  billets  of  peace, 
Which  are  kept  for,  etc. 

We  build  'em  nice  barracks — they  swear  they  are  bad, 
That  our  Colonels  are  Methodist,  married  or  mad, 
Insultin'  etc. 

They  haven't  no  manners  nor  gratitude  too, 
For  the  more  that  we  help  'em,  the  less  will  they  do, 
But  mock  at,  etc. 

Now  the  Line's  but  a  man  with  a  gun  in  his  hand, 
An'  Cavalry's  only  what  horses  can  stand, 
When  helped  by,  etc. 

Artillery  moves  by  the  leave  o'  the  ground, 
But  we  are  the  men  that  do  something  all  round, 
For  we  are,  etc. 

I  have  stated  it  plain,  an'  my  argument's  thus 

("It's  all  one,"  says  the  Sapper) 
There's  only  one  Corps  which  is  perfect — that's  us; 

An'  they  call  us  Her  Majesty's  Engineers, 

Her  Majesty's  Royal  Engineers, 

With  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  Sapper! 

>  Hillside. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  497 

THAT  DAY 

TT  GOT  beyond  all  orders  an'  it  got  beyond  all  'ope; 

It  got  to  shammin'  wounded  an'  retirin'  from  the  'alt. 
'Ole  companies  was  lookin'  for  the  nearest  road  to  slope; 
It  were  just  a  bloomin'  knock-out — an'  our  fault! 

Now  there  ain't  no  chorus  'ere  to  give, 

Nor  there  ain't  no  band  to  play; 
An'  I  wish  I  was  dead  'fore  I  done  what  I  didy 

Or  seen  what  I  seed  that  day  ! 

We  was  sick  o'  bein'  punished,  an'  we  let  'em  know  it,  too; 

An'  a  company-commander  up  an'  'it  us  with  a  sword, 
An*  some  one  shouted  "'Ook  it!"  an'  it  come  to  sove-ki-poo, 

An'  we  chucked  our  rifles  from  us — O  my  Gawd! 

There   was   thirty  dead   an'   wounded  on   the  ground  we 

wouldn't  keep — 
No,  there  wasn't  more  than  twenty  when  the  front  begun 

to  go- 
But,  Christ!  along  the  line  o'  flight  they  cut  us  up  like  sheep, 
An*  that  was  all  we  gained  by  doin'  so! 

I  'card  the  knives  be'ind  me,  but  I  dursn't  face  my  man, 
Nor  I  don't  know  where  I  went  to,  'cause  I  didn't  'alt  to 
^see, 

Till  I  'card  a  beggar  squealin'  out  for  quarter  as  'e  ran, 
An'  I  thought  I  knew  the  voice  an' — it  was  me! 

We  was  'idin'  under  bedsteads  more  than  'arf  a  march  away: 
We  was  lyin'  up  like  rabbits  all  about  the  country-side; 

An'  the  Major  cursed  'is  Maker  'cause  'e'd  lived  to  see  that 

day, 
An'  the  Colonel  broke  'is  sword  acrost,  an'  cried. 


498  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We  was  rotten  'fore  we  started — we  was  never  disciplined; 

We  made  it  out  a  favour  if  an  order  was  obeyed. 
Yes,  every  little  drummer  'ad  'is  rights  an'  wrongs  to  mind, 

So  we  had  to  pay  for  teachin* — an'  we  paid! 

The  papers  'id  it  'andsome,  but  you  know  the  Army  knows; 

We  was  put  to  groomin'  camels  till  the  regiments  withdrew, 
An'  they  gave  us  each  a  medal  for  subduin'  England's  foes, 

An'  I  'ope  you  like  my  song — because  it's  true! 

An*  there  ain't  no  chorus  'ere  to  give, 

Nor  there  ain't  no  band  to  play; 
But  I  wish  I  was  dead  'fore  I  done  what  I  did, 

Or  seen  what  I  seed  that  day  ! 


"THE  MEN  THAT  FOUGHT  AT  MINDEN" 

(In  the  Lodge  of  Instruction) 

HPHE  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  rookies  in  their 
time — 

So  was  them  that  fought  at  Waterloo! 
All  the  'ole  command,  yuss,  from  Minden  to  Maiwand, 

They  was  once  dam'  sweeps  like  you! 

Then  do  not  be  discouraged,  'Eaven  is  your  'elper, 

We'll  learn  you  not  to  forget; 

An   you  mustn't  swear  an    curse,  or  you'll  only  catch  it 
worse, 

For  we'll  make  you  soldiers  yet ! 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  stocks  beneath 
their  chins, 

Six  inch  'igh  an'  more; 
But  fatigue  it  was  their  pride,  and  they  would  not  be  denied 

To  clean  the  cook-'ouse  floor. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  499 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  had  anarchistic  bombs 
Served  to  'em  by  name  of  'and-grenades; 

But  they  got  it  in  the  eye  (same  as  you  will  by-an'-by) 
When  they  clubbed  their  field-parades. 


The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  buttons  up  an' 
down, 

Two-an'-twenty  dozen  of  'em  told; 
But  they  didn't  grouse  an'  shirk  at  an  hour's  extry  work, 

They  kept  'em  bright  as  gold. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  armed  with  mus- 

ketoons, 

Also,  they  was  drilled  by  'alberdiers; 
I  don't  know  what  they  were,  but  the  sergeants  took  good 

care 
They  washed  be'ind  their  ears. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  ever  cash  in  'and 

Which  they  did  not  bank  nor  save, 
But  spent  it  gay  an'  free  on  their  betters — such  as  me — 

For  the  good  advice  I  gave. 


The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  civil — yuss,  they 
was — 

Never  didn't  talk  o'  rights  an'  wrongs, 
But  they  got  it  with  the  toe  (same  as  you  will  get  it— so!) — 

For  interrupting  songs. 


The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  several  other  things 

Which  I  don't  remember  clear; 
But  that's  the  reason  why,  now  the  six-year  men  are  dry 

The  rooks  will  stand  the  beer! 


500  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  do  not  be  discouraged,  'Eaven  is  your  'elper, 

We'll  learn  you  not  to  forget. 
An*  you  mustn't  swear  an    curse,  or  you'll  only  catch  it 

worse, 
And  we'll  make  you  svldiers  yet  ? 

Soldiers  yet,  ijyouve  got  it  in  you — 

All  for  the  sake  of  the  Core; 
Soldiers  yet,  if  we  'ave  to  skin  you — 

Run  an'  get  the  beer,  Johnny  Raw — Johnny  Raw  ! 

Ho  !  run  an'  get  the  beer,  Johnny  Raw  ! 


CHOLERA  CAMP 

(Infantry  in  India) 

got  the  cholerer  in  camp — it's  worse  than  forty 
fights; 

We're  dyin'  in  the  wilderness  the  same  as  Isrulites; 
It's  before  us,  an'  be'ind  us,  an'  we  cannot  get  away, 
An'  the  doctor's  just  reported  we've  ten  more  to-day! 

Oh,  strike  your  camp  an'  go,  the  bugle's  callin', 

The  Rains  arefallin' — 

The  dead  are  bushed  an'  stoned  to  keep  'em  safe  below. 
The  Band's  a-doin  'all  she  knows  to  cheer  us; 
The  Chaplain's  gone  and  prayed  to  Gawd  to  'ear  us — 

To  'ear  us — 
0  Lord,  for  it's  a-killin  of  us  so  ! 

Since  August,  when  it  started,  it's  been  stickin'  to  our  tail, 
Though  they've  'ad  us  out  by  marches  an'  they've  'ad  us 

back  by  rail; 

But  it  runs  as  fast  as  troop  trains,  and  we  cannot  get  away; 
An'  the  sick-list  to  the  Colonel  makes  ten  more  to-day. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  501 

There  ain't  no  fun  in  women  nor  there  ain't  no  bite  to  drink; 
It's  much  too  wet  for  shootin';  we  can  only  march  and  think; 
An'  at  evenin',  down  the  nullahs,  we  can  'ear  the  jackals  say, 
"Get  up,  you  rotten  beggars,  you've  ten  more  to-day!" 


'T  would  make  a  monkey  cough  to  see  our  way  o'  doin* 

things — 

Lieutenants  takin'  companies  an'  Captains  takin'  wings, 
An'  Lances  actin'  Sergeants — eight  file  to  obey — 
For  we've  lots  o'  quick  promotion  on  ten  deaths  a  day! 


Our  Colonel's  white  an'  twitterly — 'e  gets  no  sleep  nor  food, 
But  mucks  about  in  'orspital  where  nothing  does  no  good. 
'E  sends  us  'caps  o'  comforts,  all  bought  from  'is  pay — 
But  there  aren't  much  comfort  'andy  on  ten  deaths  a  day. 


Our  Chaplain's  got  a  banjo,  an'  a  skinny  mule  'e  rides, 
An'  the  stuff  he  says  an'  sings  us,  Lord,  it  makes  us  split  our 

sides ! 

With  'is  black  coat-tails  a-bobbin'  to  Ta-ra-ra  Boom-der-ay  ! 
'E's  the  proper  kind  o'  padre  for  ten  deaths  a  day. 


An'  Father  Victor  'elps  'im  with  our  Roman  Catholicks— 
He  knows  an  "cap  of  Irish  songs  an'  rummy  conjurin'-tricks; 
An'  the  two  they  works  together  when  it  comes  to  play  or 

pray. 
So  we  keep  the  ball  a-rollin'  on  ten  deaths  a  day. 


We've  got  the  cholerer  in  camp — we've  got  it  'ot  an'  sweet. 
It  ain't  no  Christmas  dinner,  but  it's  'elped  an'  we  must  eat; 
We've  gone  beyond  the  funkin',  'cause  we've  found  it  doesn't 

pay, 

An'  we're  rockin'  round  the  Districk  on  ten  deaths  a  day! 


502  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Then  strike  your  camp  an'  go,  the*Rains  are  falling 

The  Bugles  calliri  ! 

The  dead  are  bushed  an1  stoned  to  keep  'em  safe  below  ! 
An'  them  that  do  not  like  it  they  can  lump  it, 
An'  them  that  can  not  stand  it  they  can  jump  it; 
We've  got  to  die  somewhere — some  way —  some'ow — 
We  might  as  well  begin  to  do  it  now  I 
Then,  Number  One,  let  down  the  tent-pole  slow, 
Knock  out  the  pegs  an'  'old  the  corners — so  ! 
Fold  in  the  jties^furl  up  the  ropes,  an  stow  ! 
Oh,  strike — oh,  strike  your  camp  an  go  ! 

(Gawd  'elp  us  /) 


THE  LADIES 

I'VE  taken  my  fun  where  I've  found  it; 

I've  rogued  an'  I've  ranged  in  my  time; 
I've  'ad  my  pickin'  o'  sweethearts, 

An'  four  o'  the  lot  was  prime. 
One  was  an  'arf-caste  widow, 

One  was  a  woman  at  Prome, 
One  was  the  wife  of  ajemadar-sais,1 

An'  one  is  a  girl  at  'ome. 

Now  I  aren't  no  'and  with  the  ladies, 

For,  takin'  'em  all  along, 
You  never  can  say  till  you've  tried  'em, 

An'  then  you  are  like  to  be  wrong. 
There's  times  when  you'll  think  that  you  mightn't, 

There's  times  when  you'll  know  that  you  might; 
But  the  things  you  will  learn  from  the  Yellow  an'  Brown, 

They'll  'elp  you  a  lot  with  the  White  ! 

1  Head-groom. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,  1885-1918  503 

I  was  a  young  un  at  'Oogli, 

Shy  as  a  girl  to  begin; 
Aggie  de  Castrer  she  made  me, 

An'  Aggie  was  clever  as  sin; 
Older  than  me,  but  my  first  un — 

More  like  a  mother  she  were — 
Showed  me  the  way  to  promotion  an'  pay, 

An'  I  learned  about  women  from  'er! 

Then  I  was  ordered  to  Burma, 

Actin'  in  charge  o'  Bazar, 
An'  I  got  me  a  tiddy  live  'eathen 

Through  buyin'  supplies  off  'er  pa.- 
Funny  an'  yellow  an'  faithful — 

Doll  in  a  teacup  she  were, 
But  we  lived  on  the  square,  like  a  true-married  pair, 

An'  I  learned  about  women  from  'er! 

Then  we  was  shifted  to  Neemuch 

(Or  I  might  ha'  been  keepin'  'er  now), 
An'  I  took  with  a  shiny  she-devil, 

The  wife  of  a  nigger  at  Mhow; 
'Taught  me  the  gipsy-folks'  bolee;1 

Kind  o'  volcano  she  were, 

For  she  knifed  me  one  night  'cause  I  wished  she  was 
white, 

And  I  learned  about  women  from  'er! 

Then  I  come  'ome  in  a  trooper, 

'Long  of  a  kid  o'  sixteen — 
'Girl  from  a  convent  at  Meerut, 

The  straightest  I  ever  'ave  seen. 
Love  at  first  sight  was  'er  trouble, 

She  didn't  know  what  it  were; 
An'  I  wouldn't  do  such,  'cause  I  liked  'er  too  much, 

But — I  learned  about  women  from  'er! 
1  Slang. 


504  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I've  taken  my  fun  where  I've  found  it, 

An'  now  I  must  pay  for  my  fun, 
For  the  more  you  'ave  known  o'  the  others 

The  less  will  you  settle  to  one; 
An'  the  end  of  it's  sittin'  and  thinkin', 

An'  dreamin'  Hell-fires  to  see; 
So  be  warned  by  my  lot  (which  I  know  you  will  not), 

An'  learn  about  women  from  me! 

What  did  the  Colonel's  Lady  think  ? 

Nobody  never  knew. 
Somebody  asked  the  Sergeant's  Wifey 

An*  she  told  'em  true  I 
When  you  get  to  a  man  in  the  case, 

They're  like  as  a  row  of  pins — 
For  the  Colonel's  Lady  an  Judy  O'Grady 

Are  sisters  under  their  skins  ! 


BILL    'AWKINS 

«  'AS  ANYBODY  seen  Bill  'Awkinsr" 

"Now  'ow  in  the  devil  would  I  know?" 
x"E's  taken  my  girl  out  walkin', 
An'  I've  got  to  tell  'im  so — 

Gawd — bless — 'im ! 
I've  got  to  tell  'im  so." 

"'D'  yer  know  what  Vs  like,  Bill  'Awkins?" 
"Now  what  in  the  devil  would  I  care?" 
""'E's  the  livin',  breathin'  image  of  an  organ-grinder's 

monkey, 
With  a  pound  of  grease  in  'is  'air — 

Gawd — bless — 'im ! 
An'  a  pound  o'  grease  in  'is  'air." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  505 

"An*  s'pose  you  met  Bill  'Awkins, 

Now  what  in  the  devil  'ud  ye  do?" 
"I'd  open  'is  cheek  to  'is  chin-strap  buckle, 

An'  bung  up  'is  both  eyes,  too — 
Gawd — bless — 'im ! 

An*  bung  up  'is  both  eyes,  too!" 

"Look  'ere,  where  'e  comes,  Bill  'Awkins! 

Now,  what  in  the  devil  will  you  say?" 
"It  isn't  fit  an'  proper  to  be  fightin*  on  a  Sunday, 

So  I'll  pass  'im  the  time  o'  day — 
Gawd — bless — 'im ! 

I'll  pass  'im  the  time  o'  day!" 


THE  MOTHER-LODGE 

HTHERE  was  Rundle,  Station  Master, 

An'  Beazeley  of  the  Rail, 
An'  'Ackman,  Commissariat, 

An'  Donkin'  o'  the  Jail; 
An'  Blake,  Conductor-Sergeant, 

Our  Master  twice  was  'e, 
With  'im  that  kept  the  Europe-shop, 

Old  Framjee  Eduljee. 

Outside — "Sergeant!     Sir!     Salute!     Salaam!" 

Inside — "Brother"  an'  it  doesn't  do  no  'arm. 

IV e  met  upon  the  Level  an   we  parted  on  the  Square , 

An  I  was  Junior  Deacon  in  my  Mother-Lodge  out  there  ! 

We'd  Bola  Nath,  Accountant, 

An'  Saul  the  Aden  Jew, 
An'  Din  Mohammed,  draughtsman 

Of  the  Survey  Office  too; 


So6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

There  was  Babu  Chuckerbutty, 
An'  Amir  Singh  the  Sikh, 

An'  Castro  from  the  fittin'-sheds, 
The  Roman  Catholick! 

We  'adn't  good  regalia, 

An'  our  Lodge  was  old  an'  bare, 
But  we  knew  the  Ancient  Landmarks, 

An'  we  kep'  'em  to  a  hair; 
An'  lookin'  on  it  backwards 

It  often  strikes  me  thus, 
There  ain't  such  things  as  infidels, 

Excep',  per'aps,  it's  us. 

For  monthly,  after  Labour, 

We'd  all  sit  down  and  smoke 
(We  dursn't  give  no  banquets, 

Lest  a  Brother's  caste  were  broke), 
An'  man  on  man  got  talkin* 

Religion  an'  the  rest, 
An'  every  man  comparin* 

Of  the  God  'e  knew  the  best. 

So  man  on  man  got  talkin', 

An'  not  a  Brother  stirred 
Till  mornin'  waked  the  parrots 

An'  that  dam'  brain-fever-bird; 
We'd  say  'twas  'ighly  curious, 

An'  we'd  all  ride  'ome  to  bed, 
With  Mo'ammed,  God,  an*  Shiva 

Changin'  pickets  in  our  'ead. 

Full  oft  on  Guv'ment  service 
This  rovin'  foot  'ath  pressed, 

An'  bore  fraternal  greetin's 
To  the  Lodges  east  an'  west, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  507 

Accordin'  as  commanded. 

From  Kohat  to  Singapore, 
But  I  wish  that  I  might  see  them 

In  my  Mother-Lodge  once  more! 


I  wish  that  I  might  see  them, 

My  Brethren  black  an'  brown, 
With  the  trichies  smellin'  pleasant 

An'  the  hog-darn1  passin'  down; 
An'  the  old  khansamah2  snorin' 

On  the  bottle-khan  a3  floor, 
Like  a  Master  in  good  standing 

With  my  Mother-Lodge  once  more. 


Outside — "  Sergeant !     Sir  !     Salute  !     Salaam  !  " 
Inside — "Brother"  an   it  doesn't  do  no  'arm. 
We  met  upon  the  Level  an'  we  parted  on  the  Square, 
An'  I  was  Junior  Deacon  in  my  Mother-Lodge  out  there  ! 


FOLLOW  ME  'OME" 


was  no  one  like  'im,  'Orse  or  Foot, 
Nor  any  o'  the  Guns  I  knew; 

An'  because  it  was  so,  why,  o'  course  'e  went  an'  died, 
Which  is  just  what  the  best  men  do. 

So  it's  knock  out  your  pipes  an'  follow  me  ! 
An'  it's  finish  up  your  swipes  an'  follow  me  I 
0/z,  'ark  to  the  big  drum  calling 
Follow  me—  follow  me  'ome  ! 

'Cigar-lighter.  'Butler.  'Pantry. 


So8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

'Is  mare  she  neighs  the  'ole  day  long, 

She  paws  the  'ole  night  through, 

An'  she  won't  take  'er  feed  'cause  o'  waitin'  for  'is  step, 
Which  is  just  what  a  beast  would  do. 

'Is  girl  she  goes  with  a  bombardier 

Before  'er  month  is  through; 
An*  the  banns  are  up  in  church,  for  she's  got  the  beggar 

hooked, 
Which  is  just  what  a  girl  would  do. 

We  fought  'bout  a  dog — last  week  it  were — 

No  more  than  a  round  or  two; 
But  I  strook  'im  cruel  'ard,  an'  I  wish  I  'adn't  now, 
Which  is  just  what  a  man  can't  do. 

'E  was  all  that  I  'ad  in  the  way  of  a  friend, 

An'  I've  'ad  to  find  one  new; 

But  Td  give  my  pay  an'  stripe  for  to  get  the  beggar  back, 
Which  it's  just  too  late  to  do. 

So  if  s  knock  out  your  pipes  an*  follow  me  ! 
An   if  s  finish  up  your  swipes  an'  follow  me  ! 
Ohj  'ark  to  the  fifes  a-crawlin'  ! 
Follow  me— follow  me  'ome  ! 

Take  'im  away  !     'E's  gone  where  the  best  men  go. 
Take  'im  away  !    An  the  gun-wheels  turnin'  slow. 
Take  'im  away  !     There's  more  from  the  place  'e  come. 
Take  'im  .away,  with  the  limber  an'  the  drum. 

For  if s" Three  rounds  blank"  an  follow  me, 
An*  it's  "Thirteen  rank"  an' follow  me; 
Oh>  passin'  the  love  o'  women, 
Follow  me— follow  me  'ome  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  509 

THE  SERGEANT'S  WEDDIN' 

'TT  WAS  warned  agin  'er — 

That's  what  made  'im  look; 
She  was  warned  agin'  'im — 

That  is  why  she  took. 
'Wouldn't  'ear  no  reason, 

'Went  an'  done  it  blind; 
We  know  all  about  'em, 

They've  got  all  to  find! 


Cheer  for  the  Sergeant's  weddin' — 
Give  'em  one  cheer  more  ! 

Grey  gun-orses  in  the  lando, 
An'  a  rogue  is  married  to,  etc. 


What's  the  use  o'  tellin* 

'Arf  the  lot  she's  been? 
'E's  a  bloomin'  robber, 

An   'e  keeps  canteen. 
'Ow  did  'e  get  'is  buggy  ? 

Gawd,  you  needn't  ask! 
'Made  'is  forty  gallon 

Out  of  every  cask! 


Watch  'im,  with  'is  'air  cut, 

Count  us  filin*  by — 
Won't  the  Colonel  praise  'is 

Pop — u — lar — i — ty ! 
We  'ave  scores  to  settle — 

Scores  for  more  than  beer; 
She's  the  girl  to  pay  'em — 

That  is  why  we're  'ere! 


5io  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

See  the  Chaplain  thinkin'? 

See  the  women  smile? 
Twig  the  married  winkin' 

As  they  take  the  aisle? 
Keep  your  side-arms  quiet, 

Dressin'  by  the  Band. 
Ho!     You  'oly  beggars, 

Cough  be'ind  your  'and! 


Now  it's  done  an'  over, 

'Ear  the  organ  squeak, 
" y  Voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden  "- 

Ain't  she  got  the  cheek! 
White  an'  laylock  ribbons, 

Think  yourself  so  fine! 
I'd  pray  Gawd  to  take  yer 

'Fore  I  made  yer  mine! 


Escort  to  the  kerridge, 

Wish  'im  luck,  the  brute! 
Chuck  the  slippers  after — 

[Pity  't  ain't  a  boot!] 
Bowin'  like  a  lady, 

Blushin'  like  a  lad — 
'Oo  would  say  to  see  'em 

Both  is  rotten  bad  ? 


Cheer  for  the  Sergeant's  weddin — 
Give  'em  one  cheer  more  ! 

Grey  gun-'orses  in  the  lando^ 
An  a  rogue  is  married  to,  etc. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  511 

THE  JACKET 

(Royal  Horse  Artillery} 

^HROUGH  the  Plagues  of  Egyp'  we  was  chasin'  Arabi, 

Gettin'  down  an'  shovin'  in  the  sun; 
An'  you  might  'ave  called  us  dirty,  an'  you  might  ha'  called  us 

,  dry» 
An'  you  might  'ave  'card  us  talkin'  at  the  gun. 

But  the  Captain  'ad  'is  jacket,  an'  the  jacket  it  was  new — 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  wettin'  of  the  jacket  is  the  proper  thing  to  do, 

Nor  we  didn't  keep  'im  waiting  very  long. 

One  day  they  gave  us  orders  for  to  shell  a  sand  redoubt, 

Loadin'  down  the  axle-arms  with  case; 
But  the  Captain  knew  'is  dooty,  an'  he  took  the  crackers  out 

An'  he  put  some  proper  liquor  in  its  place. 
An'  the  Captain  saw  the  shrapnel,  which  is  six-an'-thirty 
clear. 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 

"Will  you  draw  the  weight,"  sez  'e,  "or  will  you  draw  the 
beer?" 

An*  we  didn't  keep  'im  waiting  very  long. 

For  the  Captain,  etc. 

Then  we  trotted  gentle,  not  to  break  the  bloomin'  glass, 

Though  the  Arabites  'ad  all  their  ranges  marked; 
But  we  durs  n't  'ardly  gallop,  for  the  most  was  bottled  Bass, 

An'  we'd  dreamed  of  it  since  we  was  disembarked: 
So  we  fired  economic  with  the  shells  we  'ad  in  'and, 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
But  the  beggars  under  cover  'ad  the  impidence  to  stand, 

An'  we  couldn't  keep  'em  waitin'  very  long. 

And  the  Captain,  etc. 


512  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

So  we  finished  'arf  the  liquor  (an'  the  Captain  took  cham- 
pagne), 

An*  the  Arabites  was  shootin'  all  the  while; 
An'  we  left  our  wounded  'appy  with  the  empties  on  the  plain, 

An'  we  used  the  bloomin'  guns  for  projec///?/ 
We  limbered  up  an'  galloped — there  were  nothin'  else  to  do — 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  Battery  come  a-boundin'  like  a  boundin'  kangaroo, 

But  they  didn't  watch  us  comin'  very  long. 


As  the  Captain ,  etc. 


We  was  goin'  most  extended — we  was  drivin'  very  fine, 

An'  the  Arabites  were  loosin'  'igh  an'  wide, 
Till  the  Captain  took  the  glacis  with  a  rattlin'  "right  in- 
cline," 

An'  we  dropped  upon  their  'eads  the  other  side. 
Then  we  give  'em  quarter — such  as  'adn't  up  and  cut 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  Captain  stood  a  limberful  of  fizzy  somethin'  Brutt, 

But  we  didn't  leave  it  fizzing  very  long. 


For  the  Captain,  etc. 


We  might  ha*  been  court-martialled,  but  it  all  come  out  all 

right 

When  they  signalled  us  to  join  the  main  command. 
There  was  every  round  expended,  there  was  every  gunner 

t  tight, 
An'  the  Captain  waved  a  corkscrew  in  'is  'and! 


But  the  Captain  yad  '/V  jacket,  etc. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  513 

THE  'EATHEN 

'"THE  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  bows  down  to  wood  an'  stone; 

'E  don't  obey  no  orders  unless  they  is  'is  own; 
'E  keeps  'is  side-arms  awful:  'e  leaves  'em  all  about, 
An'  then  comes  up  the  Regiment  an'  pokes  the  'eathen  out. 

All  along  o'  dirtiness,  all  along  o'  mess, 
All  along  o'  doin  things  rather-more-or-less, 
All  along  of  abby-nay,1  kul*  an'  hazar-ho? 
Mind  you  keep  your  rifle  an  yourself  jus'  so  ! 

The  young  recruit  is  'aughty — 'e  draf's  from  Gawd  knows 

where; 

They  bid  'im  show  'is  stockin's  an'  lay  'is  mattress  square; 
'E  calls  it  bloomin'  nonsense — 'e  doesn't  know,  no  more — 
An'  then  up  comes  'is  Company  an  kicks  'im  round  the  floor! 

The  young  recruit  is  'ammered — 'e  takes  it  very  hard; 
'E  'angs  'is  'ead  an'  mutters — 'e  sulks  about  the  yard; 
'E  talks  o'  "cruel  tyrants"  which  'e'll  swing  for  by-an'-by, 
An'  the  others  'ears  an'  mocks  'im,  an'  the  boy  goes  orf  to  cry. 

The  young  recruit  is  silly — 'e  thinks  o'  suicide; 

'E's  lost  'is  gutter-devil;  'e  asn't  got  'is  pride; 

But  day  by  day  they  kicks  'im,  which  'elps  'im  on  a  bit, 

Till  'e  finds  'isself  one  mornin'  with  a  full  an'  proper  kit. 

Gettin  clear  o'  dirtiness,  gettin'  done  with  mess, 
Gettin'  shut  o'  doin'  things  rather-more-or-less; 
Not  so  fond  of  abby-nay,  kul,  nor  hazar-ho, 
Learns  to  keep  'is  rifle  an'  'isself  jus'  so  ! 

1  Not  now.  J  To-morrow.  *  Wait  a  bit. 


5i4  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  young  recruit  is  'appy — 'e  throws  a  chest  to  suit; 
You  see  'im  grow  mustaches;  you  'ear  'im  slap  'is  boot; 
'E  learns  to  drop  the  "bloodies"  from  every  word  'e  slings, 
An'  'e  shows  an  'ealthy  brisket  when  'e  strips  for  bars  an' 
rings. 


The  cruel-tyrant-sergeants  they  watch  'im  'arf  a  year; 
They  watch  'im  with  'is  comrades,  they  watch  'im  with  'is 

beer; 

They  watch  'im  with  the  women  at  the  regimental  dance, 
And    the   cruel-tyrant-sergeants   send    'is   name    along   for 

"Lance." 


An'  now  'e's  'arf  o'  nothin',  an'  all  a  private  yet, 
'Is  room  they  up  an'  rags  'im  to  see  what  they  will  get. 
They  rags  'im  low  an'  cunnin',  each  dirty  trick  they  can, 
But  'e  learns  to  sweat  'is  temper  an'  'e  learns  to  sweat  'is  man. 


An',  last,  a  Colour-Sergeant,  as  such  to  be  obeyed, 
'E  schools  'is  men  at  cricket,  'e  tells  'em  on  parade; 
They  sees  'im  quick  an'  'andy,  uncommon  set  an'  smart, 
An'  so  'e  talks  to  orficers  which  'ave  the  Core  at  'eart. 


'E  learns  to  do  'is  watchin'  without  it  showin'  plain; 
'E  learns  to  save  a  dummy,  an'  shove  'im  straight  again; 
'E  learns  to  check  a  ranker  that's  buyin'  leave  to  shirk; 
An'  'e  learns  to  make  men  like  'im  so  they'll  learn  to  like  their 
work. 


An'  when  it  comes  to  marchin*  he'll  see  their  socks  are  right, 
An*  when  it  comes  to  action  'e  shows  'em  how  to  sight. 
'E  knows  their  ways  of  thinkin'  and  just  what's  in  their  mind; 
'E  knows  when  they  are  takin'  on  an'  when  they've  fell  be'ind. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  515 

'E  knows  each  talkin'  corpril  that  leads  a  squad  astray; 

'E  feels  'is  innards  'eavin',  'is  bowels  givin'  way; 

'E  sees  the  blue-white  faces  all  tryin'  'ard  to  grin, 

An'  'e  stands  an'  waits  an'  suffers  till  it's  time  to  cap  'em  in. 

An'  now  the  hugly  bullets  come  peckin'  through  the  dust, 
An'  no  one  wants  to  face  'em,  but  every  beggar  must; 
So,  like  a  man  in  irons,  which  isn't  glad  to  go, 
They  moves  'em  off  by  companies  uncommon  stiff  an'  slow. 

Of  all  'is  five  years'  schoolin'  they  don't  remember  much 

Excep'  the  not  retreatin',  the  step  an'  keepin'  touch. 

It  looks  like  teachin'  wasted  when  they  duck  an'  spread  an' 

'op— 
But  if  'e  'adn't  learned  'em  they'd  be  all  about  the  shop. 

An'  now  it's  "'Oo  goes  backward?"  an*  now  it's  "'Oo  comes 

on  ? " 

And  now  it's  "Get  the  doolies,"  an'  now  the  Captain's  gone; 
An'  now  it's  bloody  murder,  but  all  the  while  they  'ear 
'Is  voice,  the  same  as  barrick-drill,  a-shepherdin'  the  rear. 

'E's  just  as  sick  as  they  are,  'is  'eart  is  like  to  split, 

But  'e  works  'em,  works  'em,  works  'em  till  he  feels  'em  take 

the  bit; 

The  rest  is  'oldin'  steady  till  the  watchful  bugles  play, 
An'  'e  lifts  'em,  lifts  'em,  lifts  'em  through  the  charge  that 

wins  the  day! 

The  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  bows  down  to  wood  an1  stone; 

'E  don't  obey  no  orders  unless  they  is  'is  own. 

The  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  must  end  where  'e  began. 

But  the  backbone  of  the  Army  is  the  Non-commissioned  Man! 

Keep  away  from  dirtiness — keep  away  from  mess. 
Don't  get  into  doin'  things  rather-more-or-less  I 
Let 's  ha'  done  with  abby-nay,  kul,  and  hazar-ho; 
Mind  you  keep  your  rifle  an'  yourself  jus'  so  ! 


Si6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  SHUT-EYE  SENTRY 

CEZ  the  Junior  Orderly  Sergeant 

To  the  Senior  Orderly  Man : 
"Our  Orderly  Orf'cer's  hokee-mut,1 

"You  'elp  'im  all  you  can. 
"For  the  wine  was  old  and  the  night  is  cold, 

"An*  the  best  we  may  go  wrong, 
"So,  'fore  'e  gits  to  the  sentry-box, 
"You  pass  the  word  along." 


So  it  was  "Rounds  !  What  Rounds  ?  "  at  two  of  a  frosty  night, 
'E's  'oldin   on  by  the  sergeant's  fash,  but,  sentry,  shut  your 
eye. 

An'  it  was  "Pass  !    Alfs  well!     Oh,  ain't  'e  drippin  tight  ! 
'Ell  need  an  affidavit  pretty  badly  by-an'-by. " 

The  moon  was  white  on  the  barricks, 

The  road  was  white  an'  wide, 
An'  the  Orderly  Orf'cer  took  it  all, 

An'  the  ten-foot  ditch  beside. 
An'  the  corporal  pulled  an'  the  sergeant  pushed, 

An*  the  three  they  danced  along, 
But  I'd  shut  my  eyes  in  the  sentry-box, 

So  I  didn't  see  nothin'  wrong. 

Though  it  was  "Rounds  !    What  Rounds  ?"     0  corporal,  'old 

'im  up  I 
'E's  usin'  'is  cap  as  it  shouldn't  be  used,  but,  sentry,  shut 

your  eye. 

An  it  was  "Pass  !     All's  well !    Ho,  shun  thefoamin  cup  ! 
'Ell need,"  etc. 

'Very  drunk. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  517 

'T  was  after  four  in  the  mornin'; 

We  'ad  to  stop  the  fun, 
An'  we  sent  'im  'ome  on  a  bullock-cart, 

With  'is  belt  an'  stock  undone; 
But  we  sluiced  'im  down  an'  we  washed  'im  out, 

An'  a  first-class  job  we  made, 
When  we  saved  'im,  smart  as  a  bombardier, 

For  six  o'clock  parade. 

//    'ad  been    "Rounds!      What   Rounds?      Ohy   shove   'im 

straight  again  ! 

'E's  usin'  'is  sword  for  a  bicycle ,  but,  sentry,  shut  your  eye," 
An    it  was  "Pass!    All's  well!"      E's  called  me  "Darlin 

Jane  ! 
'E'll  need, "  etc. 

The  drill  was  long  an'  'eavy, 

The  sky  was  'ot  an'  blue. 
An'  'is  eye  was  wild  an'  'is  'air  was  wet, 

But  'is  sergeant  pulled  'im  through. 
Our  men  was  good  old  trusties — 

They'd  done  it  on  their  'ead; 
But  you  ought  to  'ave  'card  'em  markin'  time 

To  'ide  the  things  'e  said! 

For  it  was  "Right  flank — wheel!"  for  "'Alt,  an    stand  at 

ease  !" 
An'  "Left  extend !"  for  "Centre  close!"    0  marker,  shut 

your  eye  ! 

An  it  was,  "  'Ere,  sir,  'ere  !  before  the  Colonel  sees  !" 
So  he  needed  affidavits  pretty  badly  by-an'-by. 

There  was  two-an'-thirty  sergeants, 

There  was  corp'rals  forty-one, 
There  was  just  nine  'undred  rank  an'  file 

To  swear  to  a  touch  o'  sun. 


Si8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

There  was  me  'e  'd  kissed  in  the  sentry-box, 

As  I  'ave  not  told  in  my  song, 
But  I  took  my  oath,  which  were  Bible-truth, 

I  'adn't  seen  nothin'  wrong. 

There's  them  that's  'ot  an'  'aughty, 

There's  them  that's  cold  an'  'ard, 
But  there  comes  a  night  when  the  best  gets  tight, 

And  then  turns  out  the  Guard. 
I've  seen  them  'ide  their  liquor 

In  every  kind  o'  way, 
But  most  depends  on  makin'  friends 

With  Privit  Thomas  A.! 

When  it  is  "Rounds!  What  Rounds?  'E's  breathin' 
through  'is  nose. 

'E's  reeling  rolling  roarin',  tight,  but,  sentry,  shut  your  eye" 
An'  it  is  "Pass  !  All's  well !"  An  that's  the  way  it  goes: 

We'll  'elp  'imjor  'is  mother y  an  'e'll  'elp  us  by -an -by  ! 


"MARY,   PITY   WOMEN!" 

VOU  call  yourself  a  man, 

For  all  you  used  to  swear, 
An'  leave  me,  as  you  can, 

My  certain  shame  to  bear? 

I  'ear!     You  do  not  care — 
You  done  the  worst  you  know. 

I  'ate  you,  grinnin'  there.     .     .     . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so! 

Nice  while  it  las ted \  an'  now  it  is  over — 
Tear  out  your  'eart  an'  good-bye  to  your  lover  ! 
What's  the  use  o'  grievin',  when  the  mother  that  bore  you 
(Mary,  pity  women  /)  knew  it  all  before  you  ? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  519 

It  aren't  no  false  alarm, 

The  finish  to  your  fun; 
You — you  'ave  brung  the  'arm, 

An'  I'm  the  ruined  one; 

An'  now  you'll  off  an'  run 
With  some  new  fool  in  tow. 

Your  'eart?     You  'aven't  none.     .     .     . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so! 

When  a  man  is  tired  there  is  naught  will  bind  'im; 
All  'e  solemn  promised  'e  will  shove  be'ind  'im. 
What's  the  good  o  •pray in  for  The  Wrath  to  strike  Jim 
(Mary,  pity  women!},  when  the  rest  are  like  'im  ? 

What  'ope  for  me  or — it? 

What's  left  for  us  to  do? 
I've  walked  with  men  a  bit, 

But  this — but  this  is  you. 

So  'elp  me  Christ,  it's  true! 
Where  can  I  'ide  or  go  ? 

You  coward  through  and  through!     .     .     « 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so! 

All  the  more  you  give  'em  the  less  are  they  for  givin — 
Love  lies  dead,  an'  you  can  not  kiss  'im  livin' . 
Down  the  road  'e  led  you  there  is  no  returnin' 
(Mary,  pity  women  /),  but  you're  late  in  learnin'  ! 

You'd  like  to  treat  me  fair? 

You  can't,  because  we're  pore? 
We'd  starve  ?     What  do  I  care ! 

We  might,  but  this  is  shore! 

I  want  the  name — no  more — 
The  name,  an'  lines  to  show, 

An'  not  to  be  an  'ore.     .     .     . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so! 


520  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Whafs  the  good  o'  pleading  when  the  mother  that  bore  you 
(Maryy  pity  women  /)  knew  it  all  before  you  ? 
Sleep  on  'is  promises  an'  wake  to  your  sorrow 
(Mary,  pity  women  !},for  we  sail  to-morrow  ! 


"FOR  TO  ADMIRE" 

TPHE  Injian  Ocean  sets  an'  smiles 

So  sof',  so  bright,  so  bloomin'  blue; 
There  aren't  a  wave  for  miles  an'  miles 

Excep'  the  jiggle  from  the  screw. 
The  ship  is  swep',  the  day  is  done, 

The  bugle's  gone  for  smoke  and  play; 
An'  black  ag'in  the  settin'  sun 

The  Lascar  sings,  "Hum  deckty  hai  7"1 

For  to  admire  an1  for  to  see, 

For  to  be' old  this  world  so  wide — 

//  never  done  no  good  to  me, 
But  I  cant  drop  it  if  I  tried  ! 

I  see  the  sergeants  pitchin'  quoits, 

I  'ear  the  women  laugh  an'  talk, 
I  spy  upon  the  quarter-deck 

The  orficers  an'  lydies  walk. 
I  thinks  about  the  things  that  was, 

An'  leans  an'  looks  acrost  the  sea, 
Till,  spite  of  all  the  crowded  ship, 

There's  no  one  lef  alive  but  me. 

The  things  that  was  which  I  'ave  seen, 
In  barrick,  camp,  an'  action  too, 

I  tells  them  over  by  myself, 

An'  sometimes  wonders  if  they're  true; 

'I'm  looking  out. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  521 

For  they  was  odd — most  awful  odd — 

But  all  the  same  now  they  are  o'er, 
There  must  be  'caps  o'  plenty  such, 

An'  if  I  wait  I'll  see  some  more. 

Oh,  I  'ave  come  upon  the  books, 

An*  frequent  broke  a  barrick-rule, 
An'  stood  beside  an'  watched  myself 

Be'avin'  like  a  bloomin'  fool. 
I  paid  my  price  for  findin'  out, 

Nor  never  grutched  the  price  I  paid, 
But  sat  in  Clink  without  my  boots, 

Admirin'  'ow  the  world  was  made. 

Be'old  a  cloud  upon  the  beam, 

An'  'umped  above  the  sea  appears 
Old  Aden,  like  a  barrick-stove 

That  no  one's  lit  for  years  an'  years! 
I  passed  by  that  when  I  began, 

An'  I  go  'ome  the  road  I  came, 
A  time-expired  soldier-man 

With  six  years'  service  to  'is  name. 

My  girl  she  said,  "Oh,  stay  with  me!" 

My  mother  'eld  me  to  'er  breast. 
They've  never  written  none,  an*  so 

They  must  'ave  gone  with  all  the  rest — 
With  all  the  rest  which  I  'ave  seen 

An'  found  an'  known  an*  met  along. 
I  cannot  say  the  things  I  feel, 

And  so  I  sing  my  evenin'  song: 

For  to  admire  an  for  to  see, 

For  to  be' old  this  world  so  wide — 
//  never  done  no  good  to  me. 

But  I  can't  drop  it  if  I  tried  ! 


522  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

i  899 
(Boer  War) 

"  y  OMMY1 '  you  was  when  it  began, 

But  now  that  it  is  o'er 
You  shall  be  called  The  Service  Man 
'Enceforward,  evermore. 

Batt'ry,  brigade,  flank,  centre,  van, 

Defaulter,  Army-corps — 
From  first  to  last,  The  Service  Man 

1  Enceforward,  evermore. 

From  'Alifax  to  'Industan, 
From  York  to  Singapore — 

'Orse,foot,  an'  guns,  The  Service  Man 
'Enceforward,  evermore! 


THE  ABSENT-MINDED  BEGGAR 

\\/"HEN  you've  shouted  "Rule  Britannia,"  when  you've 
sung  "God  save  the  Queen," 

When  you've  finished  killing  Kruger  with  your  mouth, 
Will  you  kindly  drop  a  shilling  in  my  little  tambourine 

For  a  gentleman  in  kharki  ordered  South  ? 
He's  an  absent-minded  beggar,  and  his  weaknesses  are  great — 

But  we  and  Paul  must  take  him  as  we  find  him — 
He  is  out  on  active  service,  wiping  something  off  a  slate — 

And  he's  left  a  lot  of  little  things  behind  him! 

Duke's  son — cook's  son — son  of  a  hundred  kings — 

(Fifty  thousand  horse  and  foot  going  to  Table  Bay!) 
Each  of  'em  doing  his  country's  work 

(and  who's  to  look  after  their  things?) 
Pass  the  hat  for  your  credit's  sake, 

and  pay — pay — pay! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  523 

There  are  girls  he  married  secret,  asking  no  permission  to, 

For  he  knew  he  wouldn't  get  it  if  he  did. 
There  is  gas  and  coals  and  vittles,  and  the  house-rent  falling 
due, 

And  it's  more  than  rather  likely  there's  a  kid. 
There  are  girls  he  walked  with  casual.     They'll  be  sorry  now 
he's  gone, 

For  an  absent-minded  beggar  they  will  find  him, 
But  it  ain't  the  time  for  sermons  with  the  winter  coming  on. 

We  must  help  the  girl  that  Tommy's  left  behind  him! 
Cook's  son — duke's  son — son  of  a  belted  earl — 

Son  of  a  Lambeth  publican — it's  all  the  same  to-day! 
Each  of  'em  doing  his  country's  work 

(and  who's  to  look  after  the  girl?) 
Pass  the  hat  for  your  credit's  sake, 

and  pay — pay — pay! 

There  are  families  by  thousands,  far  too  proud  to  beg  or  speak, 

And  they'll  put  their  sticks  and  bedding  up  the  spout, 
And  they'll  live  on  half  o'  nothing,  paid  'em  punctual  once  a 
week 

'Cause  the  man  that  earns  the  wage  is  ordered  out. 
He's  an  absent-minded  beggar,  but  he  heard  his  country  call, 

And  his  reg'ment  didn't  need  to  send  to  find  him! 
He  chucked  his  job  and  joined  it — so  the  job  before  us  all 

Is  to  help  the  home  that  Tommy's  left  behind  him! 
Duke's  job- — cook's  job — gardener,  baronet,  groom 

Mews  or  palace  or  paper-shop,  there's  someone  gone  away! 
Each  of  'em  doing  his  country's  work 

(and  who's  to  look  after  the  room?) 
Pass  the  hat  for  your  credit's  sake, 

and  pay — pay — pay! 

Let  us  manage  so  as,  later,  we  can  look  him  in  the  face, 
And  tell  him — what  he'd  very  much  prefer — 

That,  while  he  saved  the  Empire,  his  employer  saved  his  place 
And  his  mates  (that's  you  and  me)  looked  out  for  her. 


524  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

He's  an  absent-minded  beggar  and  he  may  forget  it  all, 

But  we  do  not  want  his  kiddies  to  remind  him 
That  we  sent  'em  to  the  workhouse  while  their  daddy  ham- 
mered Paul, 

So  we'll  help  the  homes  that  Tommy  left  behind  him! 
Cook's  home — Duke's  home — home  of  a  millionaire, 

(Fifty  thousand  horse  arid  foot  going  to  Table  Bay!) 
Each  of  'em  doing  his  country's  work 

(and  what  have  you  got  to  spare?) 
Pass  the  hat  for  your  credit's  sake, 

and  pay — pay — pay! 


CHANT-PAGAN 

(English  Irregular  discharged) 

THAT  'ave  been  what  I've  been — 
Me  that  'ave  gone  where  I've  gone— 
Me  that  'ave  seen  what  I've  seen — 

'Ow  can  I  ever  take  on 
With  awful  old  England  again, 
An*  'ouses  both  sides  of  the  street, 
And  'edges  two  sides  of  the  lane, 
And  the  parson  an'  gentry  between, 
An'  touchin'  my  'at  when  we  meet — 

Me  that  'ave  been  what  I've  been? 


Me  that  'ave  watched  'arf  a  world 

'Eave  up  all  shiny  with  dew, 

Kopje  on  kop  to  the  sun, 

An'  as  soon  as  the  mist  let  'em  through 

Our  'elios  winkin'  like  fun — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  525 

Three  sides  of  a  ninety-mile  square, 
Over  valleys  as  big  as  a  shire — 
Are  ye  there  ?    Are  ye  there  ?    Are  ye  there  ? 
An'  then  the  blind  drum  of  our  fire     .     .     . 
An'  I'm  rollin'  'is  lawns  for  the  Squire, 

Me! 


Me  that  'ave  rode  through  the  dark 
Forty  mile,  often,  on  end, 
Along  the  Ma'ollisberg  Range, 
With  only  the  stars  for  my  mark 
An'  only  the  night  for  my  friend, 
An'  things  runnin*  off  as  you  pass, 
An'  things  jumpin'  up  in  the  grass, 
An'  the  silence,  the  shine  an'  the  size 
Of  the  'igh,  unexpressible  skies — 
I  am  takin'  some  letters  almost 
As  much  as  a  mile  to  the  post, 
An'  "mind  you  come  back  with  the  change"! 

Me! 


Me  that  saw  Barberton  took 

When  we  dropped  through  the  clouds  on  their  'ead, 

An'  they  'ove  the  guns  over  and  fled — 

Me  that  was  through  Di'mond  Til, 

An'  Pieters  an'  Springs  an'  Belfast — 

From  Dundee  to  Vereeniging  all — 

Me  that  stuck  out  to  the  last 

(An'  five  bloomin'  bars  on  my  chest) — 

I  am  doin'  my  Sunday-school  best, 

By  the  'elp  of  the  Squire  an'  'is  wife 

(Not  to  mention  the  'ousemaid  an'  cook), 


526  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

To  come  In  an'  'ands  up  an'  be  still, 
An'  honestly  work  for  my  bread, 
My  livin'  in  that  state  of  life 
To  which  it  shall  please  God  to  call 

Me! 

Me  that  'ave  followed  my  trade 

In  the  place  where  the  Lightnin's  are  made, 

'Twixt  the  Rains  and  the  Sun  and  the  Moon— 

Me  that  lay  down  an'  got  up 

Three  years  with  the  sky  for  my  roof — 

That  'ave  ridden  my  'unger  an'  thirst 

Six  thousand  raw  mile  on  the  hoof, 

With  the  Vaal  and  the  Orange  for  cup, 

An'  the  Brandwater  Basin  for  dish, — 

Oh !  it's  'ard  to  be'ave  as  they  wish 

(Too  'ard,  an'  a  little  too  soon), 

I'll  'ave  to  think  over  it  first — 

Me! 

I  will  arise  an'  get  'ence; — 

I  will  trek  South  and  make  sure 

If  it's  only  my  fancy  or  not 

That  the  sunshine  of  England  is  pale, 

And  the  breezes  of  England  are  stale, 

An'  there's  somethin'  gone  small  with  the  lot; 

For  /  know  of  a  sun  an'  a  wind, 

An'  some  plains  and  a  mountain  be'ind, 

An'  some  graves  by  a  barb-wire  fence; 

An'  a  Dutchman  I've  fought  'oo  might  give 

Me  a  job  were  I  ever  inclined, 

To  look  in  an'  offsaddle  an'  live 

Where  there's  neither  a  road  nor  a  tree — 

But  only  my  Maker  an'  me, 

And  I  think  it  will  kill  me  or  cure, 

So  I  think  I  will  go  there  an'  see. 

Me! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  527 

M.I. 

(Mounted  Infantry  of  the  Line) 

J  WISH  my  mother  could  see  me  now,  with   a  fence-post 

under  my  arm, 
And  a  knife  and  a  spoon  in  my  putties  that  I  found  on  a  Boer 

farm, 
Atop  of  a  sore-backed  Argentine,  with  a  thirst  that  you 

could  n't  buy. 

I  used  to  be  in  the  Yorkshires  once 
(Sussex,  Lincolns,  and  Rifles  once), 
Hampshires,  Glosters,  and  Scottish  once!     (ad lib.) 
But  now  I  am  M.  I. 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as — that  is  the  name  you  must  call 
If  you  want  officers'  servants,  pickets  an'  'orseguards  an'  all — 
Details  for  buryin'-parties,  company-cooks  or  supply — 
Turn  out  the  chronic  Ikonas!    Roll  up  the 1   M.  I.! 

My  'ands  are  spotty  with  veldt-sores,  my  shirt  is  a  button  an* 

frill, 
An'  the  things  T've  used  my  bay'nit  for  would  make  a  tinker 

ill! 
An'  I  don't  know  whose  dam'  column  I'm  in,  nor  where  we're 

trekkin'  nor  why. 

I've  trekked  from  the  Vaal  to  the  Orange  once — 
From  the  Vaal  to  the  greasy  Pongolo  once — 
(Or  else  it  was  called  the  Zambesi  once) — 
For  now  I  am  M.  I. 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as — we  are  the  push  you  require 
For  outposts  all  night  under  freezin',  an'  rearguard  all  day 
under  fire. 

'Number  according  to  taste  and  service  of  audience. 


528  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Anything  'ot  or  unwholesome?     Anything  dusty  or  dry? 
Borrow  a  bunch  of  Ikonas!    Trot  out  the  M.  I.! 

Our  Sergeant-Major's  a  subaltern,  our  Captain's  a  Fusilier — 
Our  Adjutant's  "late  of  Somebody's  'Orse,"  an'  a  Melbourne 

auctioneer; 
But  you  couldn't  spot  us  at  'arf  a  mile  from  the  crackest 

caval-ry. 

They  used  to  talk  about  Lancers  once, 
Hussars,  Dragoons,  an'  Lancers  once, 
'Elmets,  pistols,  an'  carbines  once, 
But  now  we  are  M.  I.! 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as — we  are  the  orphans  they 

blame 
For  beggin'  the  loan  of  an  'ead-stall  an'  makin'  a  mount  to  the 

same. 
'Can't  even  look  at  their  'orselines  but  some  one  goes  bellerin" 

"Hi! 
"  'Ere  comes  a  burglin'  Ikona!"     Footsack  you M.  L! 

We're  trekkin'  our  twenty  miles  a  day  an'  bein'  loved  by  the 

Dutch, 

But  we  don't  hold  on  by  the  mane  no  more,  nor  lose  our  stir- 
rups— much; 
An'  we  scout  with  a  senior  man  in  charge  where  the  'oly  white 

flags  fly. 

We  used  to  think  they  were  friendly  once, 
Didn't  take  any  precautions  once 
(Once,  my  ducky,  an'  only  once!) 

But  now  we  are  M.  I.! 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as — we  are  the  beggars  that  got 
Three  days  "to  learn  equitation,"  an'  six  months  o'  bloomin* 

well  trot! 
Cow-guns,  an'  cattle,  an'  convoys — an'  Mister  De  Wet  on  the 

fly- 
We  are  the  rollin'  Ikonas!     We  are  the M.  I. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  529 

The  new  fat  regiments  come  from   home,  imaginin'  vain 

V.  C.'s 
(The  same  as  your  talky-fighty  men  which  are  often  Number 

Threes1), 
But  our  words  o'  command  are  "Scatter"  an'  "Close"  an' 

"Let  your  wounded  lie." 
We  used  to  rescue  'em  noble  once, — 
Givin'  the  range  as  we  raised  'em  once, 
Gettin'  'em  killed  as  we  saved  'em  once — 
But  now  we  are  M.  I. 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as — we  are  the  lanterns  you  view 
After  a  fight  round  the  kopjes,  lookin'  for  men  that  we  knew; 
Whistlin'  an'  callin'  together,  'altin'  to  catch  the  reply: — 
"'Elpme!  O 'elp  me,  Ikonas!  This  way,  the M.  I.!" 

I  wish  my  mother  could  see  me  now,  a-gatherin'  news  on  my 

own, 
When  I  ride  like  a  General  up  to  the  scrub  and  ride  back  like 

Tod  Sloan, 

Remarkable  close  to  my  'orse's  neck  to  let  the  shots  go  by. 
We  used  to  fancy  it  risky  once 
(Called  it  a  reconnaissance  once), 
Under  the  charge  of  an  orf'cer  once, 
But  now  we  are  M.  I.! 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as — that  is  the  song  you  must  say 
When  you  want  men  to  be  Mausered  at  one  and  a  penny  a 

day; 

We  are  no  five-bob  Colonials — we  are  the  'ome-made  supply, 
Ask  for  the  London  Ikonas!  Ring  up  the M.  I.! 

I  wish  myself  could  talk  to  myself  as  I  left  'im  a  year  ago; 
I  could  tell  'im  a  lot  that  would  save  'im  a  lot  on  the  things 
that  'e  ought  to  know! 

1  Horse-holders  when  in  action,  and  therefore  generally  under  cover. 


530  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

When  I  think  o'  that  ignorant  barrack-bird,  it  almost  makes 

me  cry. 

I  used  to  belong  in  an  Army  once 
(Gawd!  what  a  rum  little  Army  once), 
Red  little,  dead  little  Army  once! 
But  now  I  am  M.  I.! 


That  is  what  we  are  known  as — we  are  the  men  that  have 

been 

Over  a  year  at  the  business,  smelt  it  an'  felt  it  an'  seen. 
We  'aye  got  'old  of  the  needful — you  will  be  told  by  and  by; 
Wait  till  you've  'card  the  Ikonas,  spoke  to  the  old  M.  I.! 

Mount — march,  Ikonas  !    Stand  to  your  'orses  again  ! 
Mop  off  the  frost  on  the  saddles,  mop  up  the  miles  on  the  plain. 
Out  go  the  stars  in  the  dawning  up  goes  our  dust  to  the  sky, 
Walk— trot,  Ikonas  !     Trek  jou,1  the  old  M.  I.  ! 


COLUMNS 

(Mobile  Columns  of  the  Boer  War) 

o'  the  wilderness,  dusty  an'  dry 
(Time,  an   'igh  time  to  be  trekkin'  again  /). 
'Oo  is  it  'eads  to  the  Detail  Supply? 
A  section,  a  pompom,  an  six  'undred  men. 

'Ere  comes  the  clerk  with  'is  lantern  an'  keys 
(Time,  an'  'igh  time  to  be  trekkin'  again  /) 

"Surplus  of  everything — draw  what  you  please 
"For  the  section,  the  pompom,  an'  six  'undred  men." 

1  Get  ahead. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  531 

"What  are  our  orders  an'  where  do  we  lay?" 

(Time,  an   'igh  time  to  be  trekkin'  again  /) 
"You  came  after  dark — you  will  leave  before  day, 

"  You  section,  you  pompom,  you  six  'undred  men  /" 

Down  the  tin  street,  'alf  awake  an'  unfed, 
'Ark  to  'em  blessin'  the  Gen'ral  in  bed! 

Now  by  the  church  an'  the  outspan  they  wind — 
Over  the  ridge  an'  it's  all  lef'  be'ind 
For  the  section,  etc. 

Soon  they  will  camp  as  the  dawn's  growin'  grey, 
Roll  up  for  coffee  an*  sleep  while  they  may — 
The  section,  etc. 

Read  their  'ome  letters,  their  papers  an'  such, 
For  they'll  move  after  dark  to  astonish  the  Dutch 
With  a  section,  etc. 

'Untin'  for  shade  as  the  long  hours  pass — 
Blankets  on  rifles  or  burrows  in  grass, 
Lies  the  section,  etc. 

Dossin'  or  beatin'  a  shirt  in  the  sun, 
Watching  chameleons  or  cleanin'  a  gun, 
Waits  the  section,  etc. 

With  nothin'  but  stillness  as  far  as  you  please, 
An'  the  silly  mirage  stringin'  islands  an'  seas 
Round  the  section,  etc. 

So  they  strips  off  their  hide  an'  they  grills  in  their  bones, 
Till  the  shadows  crawl  out  from  beneath  the  pore  stones 
Towards  the  section,  etc. 


532  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

An'  the  Mauser-bird  stops  an'  the  jackals  begin, 
An'  the  'orse-guard  comes  up  and  the  Gunners  'ook  in 
As  a  'int  to  the  -pompom  an*  six  'undred  men.     .     . 

Off  through  the  dark  with  the  stars  to  rely  on — 
(Alpha  Centauri  an'  somethin'  Orion) 
Moves  the  section,  etc. 

Same  bloomin'  'ole  which  the  ant-bear  'as  broke, 
Same  bloomin'  stumble  an'  same  bloomin'  joke 
Down  the  section,  etc. 

Same  "which  is  right?"  where  the  cart-tracks  divide, 
Same  "give  it  up"  from  the  same  clever  guide 
To  the  section,  etc. 

Same  tumble-down  on  the  same  'idden  farm, 
Same  white-eyed  Kaffir  'oo  gives  the  alarm  . '" 
Of  the  section,  etc. 

Same  shootin'  wild  at  the  end  o'  the  night, 
Same  flyin'-tackle  an'  same  messy  fight, 
By  the  section,  etc. 

Same  ugly  'iccup  an'  same  'orrid  squeal, 
When  it's  too  dark  to  see  an'  it's  too  late  to  feel 
In  the  section,  etc. 

(Same  batch  of  prisoners,  'airy  an'  still, 
Watchin'  their  comrades  bolt  over  the  'ill 
From  the  section,  etc.) 

Same  chilly  glare  in  the  eye  of  the  sun 
As  'e  gets  up  displeasured  to  see  what  was  done 
By  the  section,  etc 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  533 

Same  splash  o'  pink  on  the  stoep  or  the  kraal, 
An'  the  same  quiet  face  which  'as  finished  with  all 
In  the  section,  the  pompom,  an  six  'undred  men. 

Out  o'  the  wilderness,  dusty  an'  dry 

(Time,  an   'igh  time  to  be  trekkin  again  /) 
'00  is  it  'eads  to  the  Detail  Supply  ? 

A  section,  a  pompom,  an  six  'undred  men. 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  COLUMNS 

".  .  .  On  the  —  th  instant  a  mixed  detachment  of  Colonials  left  -  for 
Cape  Town,  there  to  rejoin  their  respective  homeward-bound  contingents,  after 
fifteen  months'  service  in  the  field.  They  were  escorted  to  the  station  by  the 
regular  troops  in  garrison  and  the  bulk  of  Colonel  -  's  column,  which  has  just 
come  in  to  refit,  preparatory  to  further  operations.  The  leave-taking  was  of  the 
most  cordial  character,  the  men  cheering  each  other  continuously. 

—  Any  Newspaper,  during  the  South  African  War. 


'VE  rode  and  fought  and  ate  and   drunk  as  rations 

come  to  hand, 
Together  for  a  year  and  more  around  this  stinkin*  land: 
Now  you  are  goin'  home  again,  but  we  must  see  it  through. 
We  needn't  tell  we  liked  you  well.     Good-bye  —  good  luck  to 

you! 

You  'ad  no  special  call  to  come,  and  so  you  doubled  out, 
And  learned  us  how  to  camp  and  cook  an'  steal  a  horse  and 

scout. 

Whatever  game  we  fancied  most,  you  joyful  played  it  too, 
And  rather  better  on  the  whole.     Good-bye  —  good  luck  to 

you! 

There  isn't  much  we  'ave  n't  shared,  since  Kruger  cut  and  run, 
The  same  old  work,  the  same  old  skoff1  the  same  old  dust  and 
sun; 

•Food. 


534  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  same  old  chance  that  laid  us  out,  or  winked  an'  let  us 

through; 
The  same  old  Life,  the  same  old  Death.     Good-bye — good 

luck  to  you! 

Our  blood  'as  truly  mixed  with  yours — all  down  the  Red 

Cross  train. 

We've  bit  the  same  thermometer  in  Bloeming-typhoidtein. 
We've  'ad  the  same  old  temp'rature — the  same  relapses  too, 
The  same  old  saw-backed  fever-chart.  Good-bye — good 

luck  to  you! 

But  't  was  n't  merely  this  an'  that  (which  all  the  world  may 

know), 
'Twas  how  you  talked  an'  looked  at  things  which  made  us 

like  you  so. 

All  independent,  queer  an'  odd,  but  most  amazin'  new, 
My  word!  you  shook  us  up  to  rights.     Good-bye — good 

luck  to  you! 

Think  o'  the  stories  round  the  fire,  the  tales  along  the  trek — 
O'  Calgary  an'  Wellin'ton,  an'  Sydney  and  Quebec; 
Of  mine  an'  farm,  an'  ranch  an'  run,  an'  moose  an'  cariboo, 
An'  parrots  peckin'  lambs  to  death!     Good-bye — good  luck 
to  you! 

We've  seen  your  'ome  by  word  o'  mouth,  we've  watched  your 

rivers  shine, 

We've  'card  your  bloomin'  forests  blow  of  eucalip'  and  pine; 
Your  young,  gay  countries  north  an'  south,  we  feel  we  own 

'em  too, 
For  they  was  made  by  rank  an'  file.     Good-bye — good  luck 

to  you! 

We'll  never  read  the  papers  now  without  inquirin3  first 
For  word  from  all  those  friendly  dorps  where  you  was  born 
an'  nursed. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  535 

Why,  Dawson,  Galle,  an'  Montreal — Port  Darwin — Timaru, 
They're  only  just  across  the  road!     Good-bye — good  luck 
to  you! 

Good-bye! — So-long!  Don't  lose  yourselves — nor  us,  nor  all 
kind  friends, 

But  tell  the  girls  your  side  the  drift  we're  comin' — when  it 
ends! 

Good-bye,  you  bloomin'  Atlases!  You've  taught  us  some- 
thin'  new: 

The  world's  no  bigger  than  a  kraal.  Good-bye — good  luck 
to  you! 


TWO  KOPJES 

(Made  Yeomanry  towards  End  of  Boer  War) 

QNLY  two  African  kopjes, 

Only  the  cart-tracks  that  wind 
Empty  and  open  between  'em, 

Only  the  Transvaal  behind; 
Only  an  Aldershot  column 

Marching  to  conquer  the  land     .     .     . 
Only  a  sudden  and  solemn 

Visit,  unarmed,  to  the  Rand. 

Then  scorn  not  the  African  kopje, 

The  kopje  that  smiles  in  the  heat, 
The  wholly  unoccupied  kopje, 

The  home  of  Cornelius  and  Piet. 
You  can  never  be  sure  of  your  kopje, 

But  of  this  be  you  blooming  well  sure, 
A  kopje  is  always  a  kopje, 

And  a  Boojer  is  always  a  Boer! 


536  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Only  two  African  kopjes, 

Only  the  vultures  above, 
Only  baboons — at  the  bottom, 

Only  some  buck  on  the  move; 
Only  a  Kensington  draper 

Only  pretending  to  scout     .     .     . 
Only  bad  news  for  the  paper, 

Only  another  knock-out. 


Then  mock  not  the  African  kopje, 
And  rub  not  your  flank  on  its  side, 

The  silent  and  simmering  kopje, 
The  kopje  beloved  by  the  guide. 

You  can  never  bey  etc. 


Only  two  African  kopjes, 

Only  the  dust  of  their  wheels, 
Only  a  bolted  commando, 

Only  our  guns  at  their  heels     .     .     . 
Only  a  little  barb-wire, 

Only  a  natural  fort, 
Only  "by  sections  retire," 

Only  "regret  to  report!" 

Then  mock  not  the  African  kopje, 
Especially  when  it  is  twins, 

One  sharp  and  one  table-topped  kopje 
For  that's  where  the  trouble  begins. 

You  never  can  be,  etc. 


Only  two  African  kopjes 
Baited  the  same  as  before — 

Only  we've  had  it  so  often, 
Only  we're  taking  no  more 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  537 

Only  a  wave  to  our  troopers, 

Only  our  flanks  swinging  past, 
Only  a  dozen  voorloopers,1 

Only  we've  learned  it  at  last! 


Then  mock  not  the  African  kopje, 

But  take  off  your  hat  to  the  same, 
The  patient,  impartial  old  kopje, 

The  kopje  that  taught  us  the  game! 
For  all  that  we  knew  in  the  Columns, 

And  all  they've  forgot  on  the  Staff, 
We  learned  at  the  Fight  o'  Two  Kopjes, 

Which  lasted  two  years  an'  a  half. 


O  mock  not  the  African  kopje, 

Not  even  when  peace  has  been  signed — 
The  kopje  that  isn't  a  kopje — 

The  kopje  that  copies  its  kind. 
You  can  never  be  sure  of  your  kopje, 

But  of  this  be  you  blooming  well  sure, 
That  a  kopje  is  always  a  kopje, 

And  a  Boojer  is  always  a  Boer! 


THE   INSTRUCTOR 

(Non-commissioned  Officers  of  the  Line) 

AT  TIMES  when  under  cover  I  'ave  said, 
To  keep  my  spirits  up  an'  raise  a  laugh, 
'Earin  'im  pass  so  busy  over-'ead — 
Old .  Nickel-Neck,  'oo  is  n't  on  the  Staff— 
"  There's  one  above  is  greater  than  us  all." 

1  Leading  horseman  of  the  enemy. 


538  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Before  'im  I  'ave  seen  my  Colonel  fall, 
An*  watched  'im  write  my  Captain's  epitaph, 
So  that  a  long  way  off  it  could  be  read — 
He  'as  the  knack  o'  makin'  men  feel  small — 
Old  Whistle  Tip,  'oo  is  n't  on  the  Staff. 

There  is  no  sense  in  fleein'  (I  'ave  fled), 
Better  go  on  an'  do  the  belly-crawl, 
An'  'ope  'e  '11  'it  some  other  man  instead 
Of  you  'e  seems  to  'unt  so  speshual — 
Fitzy  van  Spitz,  'oo  is  n't  on  the  Staff. 

An*  thus  in  mem'ry's  cinematograph, 

Now  that  the  show  is  over,  I  recall 

The  peevish  voice  an'  'oary  mushroom  'ead 

Of  'im  we  owned  was  greater  than  us  all, 

'Oo  give  instruction  to  the  quick  an'  the  dead- 

The  Shudderin'  Beggar — not  upon  the  Staff! 


BOOTS 

(Infantry  Columns) 

\\TE'RE    foot — slog — slog — slog — sloggin*    over     Africa! 

Foot — foot — foot — foot — sloggin'  over  Africa — 

(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'  up  and  down  again!) 

There's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 

Seven — six — eleven — five — nine-an '-twenty  mile  to-day — 
Four — eleven — seventeen — thirty-two  the  day  before — 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'  up  and  down  again !) 
There's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 

Don't — don't — don't — don't — look  at  what's  in  front  of  you. 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'  up  an'  down  again); 
Men — men — men — men — men  go  mad  with  watchin'  'em, 
An'  there's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  539 

Try — try — try — try — to  think  o'  something  different — 
Oh — my — God — keep — me  from  goin'  lunatic ! 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'  up  an'  down  again!) 
There's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 

Count — count — count — count — the  bullets  in  the  bandoliers. 
If — your — eyes — drop — they  will  get  atop  o'  you 
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'  up  and  down  again) — 
There's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 

We — can — stick — out — 'unger,  thirst,  an'  weariness, 
But — not — not — not — not  the  chronic  sight  of  'em — 
Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'  up  an'  down  again, 
An'  there's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 

'Tain't — so — bad — by — day  because  o'  company, 
But — night — brings — long — strings — o'  forty  thousand  mil- 
lion 

Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'  up  an'  down  again. 
There's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 

I — 'ave — marched — six — weeks  in  'Ell  an'  certify 
It — is — not — fire — devils — dark  or  anything, 
But     boots — boots — boots — boots — movin'    up    an'    down 
again, 

An'  there's  no  discharge  in  the  war! 


THE  MARRIED  MAN 

(Reservist  of  the  Line) 

*1PHE  bachelor  'e  fights  for  one 

As  joyful  as  can  be; 
But  the  married  man  don't  call  it  fun, 
Because  'e  fights  for  three — 


540  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  It 

(An'  Two  an'  One  make  Three) 

'E  wants  to  finish  'is  little  bit, 
An'  'e  wants  to  go  'ome  to  'is  tea! 

The  bachelor  pokes  up  'is  'ead 

To  see  if  you  are  gone; 
But  the  married  man  lies  down  instead, 

An'  waits  till  the  sights  come  on, 
For  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  a  hit 

(Direct  or  ricochee) 
'E  wants  to  finish  'is  little  bit, 

An'  'e  wants  to  go  'ome  to  'is  tea. 

The  bachelor  will  miss  you  clear 

To  fight  another  day; 
But  the  married  man,  'e  says  "No  fear!" 

'E  wants  you  out  of  the  way 
Of  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  It 

(An*  'is  road  to  'is  farm  or  the  sea), 
'E  wants  to  finish  'is  little  bit, 

An'  'e  wants  to  go  'ome  to  'is  tea. 

The  bachelor  'e  fights  'is  fight 

An'  stretches  out  an'  snores; 
But  the  married  man  sits  up  all  night — 

For  'e  don't  like  out-o'-doors. 
'E'll  strain  an'  listen  an'  peer 

An'  give  the  first  alarm — 
For  the  sake  o'  the  breathin*  'e's  used  to  'ear 

An'  the  'ead  on  the  thick  of  'is  arm. 

The  bachelor  may  risk  'is  'ide 

To  'elp  you  when  you're  downed; 

But  the  married  man  will  wait  beside 
Till  the  ambulance  comes  round. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  541 

'E'll  take  your  'ome  address 

An'  all  you've  time  to  say, 
Or  if  'e  sees  there's  'ope,  'e'll  press 

Your  art'ry  'alf  the  day — 

For  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  It 

(An'  One  from  Three  leaves  Two), 
For  'e  knows  you  wanted  to  finish  your  bit, 

An'  'e  knows  'oo's  wantin'  you. 
Yes,  'Im  an'  'Er  an*  It 

(Our  'oly  One  in  Three), 
We're  all  of  us  anxious  to  finish  our  bit, 

An'  we  want  to  get  'ome  to  our  tea! 

Yes,  It  an'  'Er  an'  'Im, 

Which  often  makes  me  think 
The  married  man  must  sink  or  swim 

An* — 'e  can't  afford  to  sink! 
Oh  'Im  an'  It  an'  'Er 

Since  Adam  an'  Eve  began! 
So  I'd  rather  fight  with  the  bachelor 

An'  be  nursed  by  the  married  man! 


LICHTENBERG 

(New  South  Wales  Contingent} 

QMELLS  are  surer  than  sounds  or  sights 
To  make  your  heart-strings  crack — 
They  start  those  awful  voices  o'  nights 

That  whisper,  "Old  man,  come  back!" 
That  must  be  why  the  big  things  pass 

And  the  little  things  remain, 
Like  the  smell  of  the  wattle  by  Lichtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain. 


542  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

There  was  some  silly  fire  on  the  flank 

And  the  small  wet  drizzling  down — 
There  were  the  sold-out  shops  and  the  bank 

And  the  wet,  wide-open  town; 
And  we  were  doing  escort-duty 

To  somebody's  baggage-train, 
And  I  smelt  wattle  by  Lichtenberg — 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain. 


It  was  all  Australia  to  me — 

All  I  had  found  or  missed: 
Every  face  I  was  crazy  to  see, 

And  every  woman  I'd  kissed: 
All  that  I  should  n't  ha'  done,  God  knows! 

(As  He  knows  I'll  do  it  again), 
That  smell  of  the  wattle  round  Litchtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain! 

And  I  saw  Sydney  the  same  as  ever, 

The  picnics  and  brass-bands; 
And  my  little  homestead  on  Hunter  River 

And  my  new  vines  joining  hands. 
It  all  came  over  me  in  one  act 

Quick  as  a  shot  through  the  brain — 
With  the  smell  of  the  wattle  round  Lichtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain. 

I  have  forgotten  a  hundred  fights, 

But  one  I  shall  not  forget — 
With  the  raindrops  bunging  up  my  sights 

And  my  eyes  bunged  up  with  wet; 
And  through  the  crack  and  the  stink  of  the  cordite 

(Ah  Christ!     My  country  again!) 
The  smell  of  the  wattle  by  Lichtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  543 

STELLENBOSH 

(Composite  Columns} 

General  'card  the  firin'  on  the  flank, 
An'  'e  sent  a  mounted  man  to  bring  'im  back 
The  silly,  pushin'  person's  name  an'  rank 

'Oo'd  dared  to  answer  Brother  Boer's  attack: 
For  there  might  'ave  been  a  serious  engagement, 

An'  'e  might  'ave  wasted  'alf  a  dozen  men; 
So  'e  ordered  'im  to  stop  'is  operations  round  the  kopjes, 
An'  'e  told  'im  off  before  the  Staff  at  ten! 


And  it  all  goes  into  the  laundry, 
But  it  never  comes  out  in  the  wash, 
'Ow  we're  sugared  about  by  the  old  men 
('Eavy-sterned  amateur  old  men!) 
That  'amper  an'  'inder  an'  scold  men 
For  fear  o'  Stellenbosh! 


The  General  'ad  "produced  a  great  effect," 

The  General  'ad  the  country  cleared — almost; 
The  General  "'ad  no  reason  to  expect," 

And  the  Boers  'ad  us  bloomin'  well  on  toast! 
For  we  might  'ave  crossed  the  drift  before  the  twilight, 

Instead  o'  sitting  down  an'  takin'  root; 
But  we  was  not  allowed,  so  the  Boojers  scooped  the  crowd, 

To  the  last  survivin'  bandolier  an'  boot. 


The  General  saw  the  farm'ouse  in  'is  rear, 
With  its  stoep  so  nicely  shaded  from  the  sun; 

Sez  'e,  "I'll  pitch  my  tabernacle  'ere," 

An'  'e  kept  us  muckin'  round  till  'e  'ad  done. 


544  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  'e  might  'ave  caught  the  confluent  pneumonia 

From  sleepin'  in  his  gaiters  in  the  dew; 
So  'e  took  a  book  an'  dozed  while  the  other  columns  closed 

And  De  Wet's  commando  out  an'  trickled  through! 

The  General  saw  the  mountain-range  ahead, 

With  their  'elios  showin'  saucy  on  the  'eight, 
So  'e  'eld  us  to  the  level  ground  instead, 

An'  telegraphed  the  Boojers  would  n't  fight. 
For  'e  might  'ave  gone  an'  sprayed  'em  with  a  pompom, 

Or  'e  might  'ave  slung  a  squadron  out  to  see — 
But  'e  was  n't  takin'  chances  in  them  'igh  an'  'ostile  kranzes — 

He  was  markin'  time  to  earn  a  K.  C.  B 

The  General  got  'is  decorations  thick 

(The  men  that  backed  'is  lies  could  not  complain), 
The  Staff  'ad  D.  S.  O.'s  till  we  was  sick, 

An'  the  soldier — 'ad  the  work  to  do  again! 
For  'e  might  'ave  known  the  District  was  an  'otbed, 

Instead  of  'andin'  over,  upside-down, 
To  a  man  'oo  'ad  to  fight  'alf  a  year  to  put  it  right, 

While  the  General  went  an'  slandered  'im  in  town! 

An'  it  all  went  into  the  laundry, 
But  it  never  came  out  in  the  wash. 
We  were  sugared  about  by  the  old  men 
(Panicky,  perishin'  old  men) 
That  'amper  an'  'inder  an'  scold  men 
For  fear  o'  Stellenbosh ! 


HALF-BALLAD  OF  WATER  VAL 

(Non-commissioned  Officers  in  Charge  oj  Prisoners) 


by  the  labour  of  my  'ands 
I've  'elped  to  pack  a  transport  tight 
With  prisoners  for  foreign  lands, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  545 

I  ain't  transported  with  delight. 
I  know  it's  only  just  an'  right, 

But  yet  it  somehow  sickens  me, 
For  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity. 


Be'ind  the  pegged  barb-wire  strands, 

Beneath  the  tall  electric  light, 
We  used  to  walk  in  bare-'ead  bands, 
Explainin'  'ow  we  lost  our  fight; 
An'  that  is  what  they'll  do  to-night 

Upon  the  steamer  out  at  sea, 
If  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity. 


They'll  never  know  the  shame  that  brands — 
Black  shame  no  livin'  down  makes  white — 
The  mockin'  from  the  sentry-stands, 
The  women's  laugh,  the  gaoler's  spite. 
We  are  too  bloomin'-much  polite, 

But  that  is  'ow  I'd  'ave  us  be     .     .     . 
Since  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity. 


They'll  get  those  draggin'  days  all  right, 

Spent  as  a  foreigner  commands, 
An'  'errors  of  the  locked-up  night, 

With  'Ell's  own  thinkin'  on  their  'ands. 
I'd  give  the  gold  o'  twenty  Rands 
(If  it  was  mine)  to  set  'em  free 
For  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity! 


546  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

PIET 

(Regular  of  the  Line} 

T  DO  not  love  my  Empire's  foes, 

Nor  call  'em  angels;  still, 
What  is  the  sense  of  'atin'  those 

'Oom  you  are  paid  to  kill? 
So,  barrin'  all  that  foreign  lot 
Which  only  joined  for  spite, 
Myself,  I'd  just  as  soon  as  not 
Respect  the  man  I  fight. 
Ah  there,  Piet! — 'is  trousies  to  'is  knees, 
'Is  coat-tails  lyin'  level  in  the  bullet-sprinkled  breeze; 
'E  does  not  lose  'is  rifle  an'  'e  does  not  lose  'is  seat, 
I've  known  a  lot  o'  people  ride  a  dam'  sight  worse  than 
Piet. 

I've  'card  'im  cryin'  from  the  ground 

Like  Abel's  blood  of  old, 
An'  skirmished  out  to  look,  an'  found 

The  beggar  nearly  cold. 
I've  waited  on  till  'e  was  dead 

(Which  couldn't  'elp  'im  much), 
But  many  grateful  things  'e  's  said 
To  me  for  doin'  such. 

Ah  there,  Piet!  whose  time  'as  come  to  die, 

'Is  carcase  past  rebellion,  but  'is  eyes  inquirin'  why. 

Though  dressed  in  stolen  uniform  with  badge  o'  rank 

complete, 

I've  known  a  lot  o'  fellers  go  a  dam'  sight  worse  than 
Piet. 

An'  when  there  was  n't  aught  to  do 

But  camp  and  cattle-guards, 
I've  fought  with  'im  the  'ole  day  through 

At  fifteen  'undred  yards; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  547 

Long  afternoons  o'  lyin'  still, 

An'  'earin'  as  you  lay 
The  bullets  swish  from  'ill  to  'ill 
Like  scythes  among  the  'ay. 

Ah  there,  Piet! — be'ind  'is  stony  kop. 

With  'is  Boer  bread  an'  biltong,1  an'  'is  flask  of  awful 

Dop'; 

'Is  Mauser  for  amusement  an'  'is  pony  for  retreat, 
I've  known  a  lot  o'  fellers  shoot  a  dam'  sight  worse 
than  Piet. 


He's  shoved  'is  rifle  'neath  my  nose 

Before  I'd  time  to  think, 
An'  borrowed  all  my  Sunday  clo'es 

An'  sent  me  'ome  in  pink; 
An'  I  'ave  crept  (Lord,  'ow  I've  crept!) 

On  'ands  an'  knees  I've  gone, 
And  spoored  and  floored  and  caught  and  kept 
An'  sent  him  to  Ceylon! 

Ah  there,  Piet! — you've  sold  me  many  a  pup, 

When  week  on  week  alternate  it  was  you  an'  me  "  'ands 

up!" 
But  though  I  never  made  you  walk  man-naked  in  the 

'eat, 

I've  known  a  lot  of  fellows  stalk  a  dam'  sight  worse  than 
Piet. 


From  Plewman's  to  Marabastad, 

From  Ookiep  to  De  Aar, 
Me  an*  my  trusty  friend  'ave  'ad, 

As  you  might  say,  a  war; 
But  seein'  what  both  parties  done 

Before  'e  owned  defeat, 
I  ain't  more  proud  of  'avin'  won, 

Than  I  am  pleased  with  Piet. 

1  Dried  meat.  '  Cape  brandy. 


548  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Ah  there,  Piet! — picked  up  be'ind  the  drive!  . 
The  wonder  wasn't  'ow  'e  fought,  but  'ow  'e  kep'  alive, 
With  nothin'  in  'is  belly,  on  'is  back,  or  to  'is  feet — 
I've  known  a  lot  o'  men  behave  a  dam'  sight  worse 
than  Piet. 

No  more  I'll  'ear  'is  rifle  crack 

Along  the  block'ouse  fence — 
The  beggar's  on  the  peaceful  tack, 

Regardless  of  expense; 
For  countin'  what  'e  eats  an'  draws, 

An'  gifts  an'  loans  as  well, 
'E's  gettin'  'alf  the  Earth,  because 
'E  didn't  give  us  'Ell! 

Ah  there,  Piet!  with  your  brand-new  English  plough, 
Your  gratis  tents  an'  cattle,  an'  your  most  ungrateful 

frow, 

You've  made  the  British  taxpayer  rebuild  your  country- 
seat — 

I've  known  some  pet  battalions  charge  a  dam'  sight  less 
than  Piet. 


"WILFUL-MISSING" 

(Deserters} 

'TWERE  is  a  world  outside  the  one  you  know, 

To  which  for  curiousness  'Ell  can't  compare — 
It  is  the  place  where  "wilful-missings"  go, 
As  we  can  testify,  for  we  are  there. 

You  may  'ave  read  a  bullet  laid  us  low, 

That  we  was  gathered  in  "with  reverent  care" 

And  buried  proper.  But  it  was  not  so, 
As  we  can  testify, — for  we  are  there! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  549 

They  can't  be  certain — faces  alter  so 

After  the  old  aasvogel1  's  'ad  'is  share. 
The  uniform  's  the  mark  by  which  they  go — 

And — ain't  it  odd? — the  one  we  best  can  spare. 

We  might  'ave  seen  our  chance  to  cut  the  show — 
Name,  number,  record,  an'  begin  elsewhere — 

Leavin'  some  not  too  late-lamented  foe 

One  funeral — private — British — for  'is  share. 

We  may  'ave  took  it  yonder  in  the  Low 

Bush-veldt  that  sends  men  stragglin'  unaware 

Among  the  Kaffirs,  till  their  columns  go, 
An'  they  are  left  past  call  or  count  or  care. 

We  might  'ave  been  your  lovers  long  ago, 
'Usbands  or  children — comfort  or  despair. 

Our  death  (an'  burial)  settles  all  we  owe, 
An'  why  we  done  it  is  our  own  affair. 

Marry  again,  and  we  will  not  say  no, 

Nor  come  to  barstardise  the  kids  you  bear. 

Wait  on  in  'ope — you've  all  your  life  below 
Before  you'll  ever  'ear  us  on  the  stair. 

There  is  no  need  to  give  our  reasons,  though 
Gawd  knows  we  all  'ad  reasons  which  were  fair; 

But  other  people  might  not  judge  'em  so — 
And  now  it  doesn't  matter  what  they  were. 

WThat  man  can  weigh  or  size  another's  woe? 

There  are  some  things  too  bitter  'ard  to  bear. 
Suffice  it  we  'ave  finished — Domino! 

As  we  can  testify,  for  we  are  there, 
In  the  side-world  where  "wilful-missings"  go. 

1  Vulture. 


550  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

UBIQUE 

(Royal  Artillery) 

HpHERE  is   a  word   you  often  see,  pronounce  it  as  you 

may — 

"You  bike,"  "you  bykwee,"  "ubbikwe" — alludin'  to  R.  A. 
It  serves  'Orse,  Field,  an'  Garrison  as  motto  for  a  crest, 
An'  when  you've  found  out  all  it  means  I'll  tell  you  'alf  the 

rest. 


Ubique  means  the  long-range  Krupp  be'ind  the  low-range 

'ill— 

Ubique  means  you'll  pick  it  up  an',  while  you  do,  stand  still. 
Ubique  means  you've  caught  the  flash  an'  timed  it  by  the 

sound. 
Ubique  means  five  gunners'   'ash  before  you've  loosed   a 

round. 


Ubique  means  Blue  Fuse,1  an'  make  the  'ole  to  sink  the  trail. 
Ubique  means  stand  up  an'  take  the  Mauser's  'alf-mile  'ail. 
Ubique  means  the  crazy  team  not  God  nor  man  can  'old. 
Ubique  means  that  'orse's  scream  which  turns  your  innards 
cold! 


Ubique   means   "Bank,    'Olborn,   Bank — a   penny   all    the 

way"— 
The  soothin',  jingle-bump-an'-clank  from  day  to  peaceful 

day. 
Ubique  means  "They've  caught  De  Wet,  an'  now  we  sha'n't 

be  long." 
Ubique  means  "I  much  regret,  the  beggar's  goin'  strong!" 

1  Extreme  range 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  551 

Ubique  means  the  tearin'  drift  where,  breech-blocks  jammed 

with  mud, 

The  khaki  muzzles  duck  an'  lift  across  the  khaki  flood. 
Ubique  means  the  dancing  plain  that  changes  rocks  to  Boers. 
Ubique  means  the  mirage  again  an'  shellin'  all  outdoors. 

Ubique  means  "Entrain  at  once  for  Grootdefeatfontein"! 
Ubique  means  "Off-load  your  guns" — at  midnight  in  the 

rain! 
Ubique    means    "More    mounted    men.     Return    all   guns 

to  store." 
Ubique  means  the  R.  A.  M.  R.  Infantillery  Corps! 

Ubique   means   that  warnin'   grunt   the   perished  linesman 

knows, 
When  o'er  'is  strung  an'  sufferin'  front  the  shrapnel  sprays  'is 

foes; 

An'  as  their  firin'  dies  away  the  'usky  whisper  runs 
From  lips  that  'ave  n't  drunk  all  day:     "The  Guns!     Thank 

Gawd,  the  Guns!" 

Extreme,  depressed,  point-blank  or  short,  end-first  or  any'ow, 
From  Colesberg  Kop  to  Quagga's  Poort — from  Ninety-Nine 

till  now — 

By  what  I've  'card  the  others  tell  an'  I  in  spots  'ave  seen, 
There's  nothin*  this  side  'Eaven  or  'Ell  Ubique  does  n't  mean! 


THE  RETURN 

(All  Arms) 

DEACE  is  declared,  an'  I  return 

To  'Ackneystadt,  but  not  the  same; 
Things  'ave  transpired  which  made  me  learn 
The  size  and  meanin'  of  the  game. 


552  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I  did  no  more  than  others  did, 

I  don't  know  where  the  change  began. 

I  started  as  a  average  kid, 
I  finished  as  a  thinkin'  man. 

If  England  was  what  England  seems y 
An  not  the  England  of  our  dreams, 

But  only  putty,  brass,  an'  paint, 

'Ow  quick  we'd  drop  'er  !     But  she  ain't! 

Before  my  gappin'  mouth  could  speak 

I  'card  it  in  my  comrade's  tone; 
I  saw  it  on  my  neighbour's  cheek 

Before  I  felt  it  flush  my  own. 
An'  last  it  come  to  me — not  pride, 

Nor  yet  conceit,  but  on  the  'ole 
(If  such  a  term  may  be  applied), 

The  makin's  of  a  bloomin'  soul. 

Rivers  at  night  that  cluck  an'  jeer, 

Plains  which  the  moonshine  turns  to  sea, 
Mountains  which  never  let  you  near, 

An'  stars  to  all  eternity; 
An'  the  quick-breathin'  dark  that  fills 

The  'ollows  of  the  wilderness, 
When  the  wind  worries  through  the  'ills — 

These  may  'ave  taught  me  more  or  less. 

Towns  without  people,  ten  times  took, 

An'  ten  times  left  an'  burned  at  last; 
An'  starvin'  dogs  that  come  to  look 

For  owners  when  a  column  passed; 
An'  quiet,  'omesick  talks  between 

Men,  met  by  night,  you  never  knew 
Until — 'is  face — by  shellfire  seen — 

Once — an'  struck  off.     They  taught  me  too. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  553 

The  day's  lay-out — the  mornin'  sun 

Beneath  your  'at-brim  as  you  sight; 
The  dinner-'ush  from  noon  till  one, 

An'  the  full  roar  that  lasts  till  night; 
An'  the  pore  dead  that  look  so  old 

An'  was  so  young  an  hour  ago, 
An'  legs  tied  down  before  they're  cold — 

These  are  the  things  which  make  you  know. 


Also  Time  runnin'  into  years — 

A  thousand  Places  left  be'ind — 
An'  Men  from  both  two  'emispheres 

Discussin'  things  of  every  kind; 
So  much  more  near  than  I  'ad  known, 

So  much  more  great  than  I  'ad  guessed — 
An'  me,  like  all  the  rest,  alone — 

But  reachin'  out  to  all  the  rest! 


So  'ath  it  come  to  me — not  pride, 

Nor  yet  conceit,  but  on  the  'ole 
(If  such  a  term  may  be  applied), 

The  makin's  of  a  bloomin'  soul. 
But  now,  discharged,  I  fall  away 

To  do  with  little  things  again.     . 
Gawd,  'oo  knows  all  I  cannot  say, 

Look  after  me  in  Thamesfontein  I1 


If  England  was  what  England  seems , 
An   not  the  England  of  our  dreams. 

But  only  putty,  brass,  an'  paint, 

'Ow  quick  we'd  chuck  'er  !     But  she  ain't! 

London. 


554  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


"CITIES  AND  THRONES  AND  POWERS' 

CITIES  and  Thrones  and  Powers., 

Stand  in  Time's  eye, 
Almost  as  long  as  flowers, 

Which  daily  die: 
But,  as  new  buds  put  forth 

To  glad  new  men, 
Out  of  the  spent  and  unconsidered  Earth, 

The  Cities  rise  again. 

This  season's  Daffodil, 

She  never  hears, 
What  change,  what  chance,  what  chill, 

Cut  down  last  years; 
But  with  bold  countenance, 

And  knowledge  small, 
Esteems  her  seven  days'  continuance, 

To  be  perpetual. 

So  Time  that  is  o'er-kind, 

To  all  that  be, 
Ordains  us  e'en  as  blind, 

As  bold  as  she: 
That  in  our  very  death, 

And  burial  sure, 
Shadow  to  shadow,  well  persuaded,  saith, 

"See  how  our  works  endure  !" 


THE  RECALL 

J  AM  the  land  of  their  fathers. 

In  me  the  virtue  stays. 
I  will  bring  back  my  children, 
After  certain  days. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  555 

Under  their  feet  in  the  grasses 
My  clinging  magic  runs. 
They  shall  return  as  strangers. 
They  shall  remain  as  sons. 

Over  their  heads  in  the  branches 
Of  their  new-bought,  ancient  trees, 
I  weave  an  incantation 
And  draw  them  to  my  knees. 

Scent  of  smoke  in  the  evening, 
Smell  of  rain  in  the  night — 
The  hours,  the  days  and  the  seasons, 
Order  their  souls  aright, 

Till  I  make  plain  the  meaning 
Of  all  my  thousand  years — 
Till  I  fill  their  hearts  with  knowledge, 
While  I  fill  their  eyes  with  tears. 


PUCK'S  SONG 

CEE  you  the  ferny  ride  that  steals 

Into  the  oak-woods  far? 
O  that  was  whence  they  hewed  the  keels 
That  rolled  to  Trafalgar. 

And  mark  you  where  the  ivy  clings 
To  Bayham's  mouldering  walls? 
O  there  we  cast  the  stout  railings 
That  stand  around  St.  Paul's. 

See  you  the  dimpled  track  that  runs 
All  hollow  through  the  wheat? 
O  that  was  where  they  hauled  the  guns 
That  smote  King  Philip's  fleet. 


556  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

(Out  of  the  Weald,  the  secret  Weald, 
Men  sent  in  ancient  years, 
The  horse-shoes  red  at  Flodden  Field, 
The  arrows  at  Poitiers!) 

See  you  our  little  mill  that  clacks, 

So  busy  by  the  brook? 

She  has  ground  her  corn  and  paid  her  tax 

Ever  since  Domesday  Book. 

See  you  our  stilly  woods  of  oak, 
And  the  dread  ditch  beside? 
O  that  was  where  the  Saxons  broke 
On  the  day  that  Harold  died. 

See  you  the  windy  levels  spread 
About  the  gates  of  Rye? 
O  that  was  where  the  Northmen  fled, 
When  Alfred's  ships  came  by. 

See  you  our  pastures  wide  and  lone, 
Where  the  red  oxen  browse? 
O  there  was  a  City  thronged  and  known, 
Ere  London  boasted  a  house. 

And  see  you,  after  rain,  the  trace 
Of  mound  and  ditch  and  wall? 
O  that  was  a  Legion's  camping-place, 
When  Caesar  sailed  from  Gaul. 

And  see  you  marks  that  show  and  fade, 
Like  shadows  on  the  Downs? 
O  they  are  the  lines  the  Flint  Men  made, 
To  guard  their  wondrous  towns. 

Trackway  and  Camp  and  City  lost, 
Salt  Marsh  where  now  is  corn — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  557 

Old  Wars,  old  Peace,  old  Arts  that  cease, 
And  so  was  England  born! 

She  is  not  any  common  Earth, 
Water  or  wood  or  air, 
But  Merlin's  Isle  of  Gramarye, 
Where  you  and  I  will  fare! 


THE  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WOODS 

"T"HEY  shut  the  road  through  the  woods 

Seventy  years  ago. 

Weather  and  rain  have  undone  it  again, 
And  now  you  would  never  know 
There  was  once  a  road  through  the  woods 
Before  they  planted  the  trees. 
It  is  underneath  the  coppice  and  heath, 
And  the  thin  anemones. 
Only  the  keeper  sees 
That,  where  the  ring-dove  broods, 
And  the  badgers  roll  at  ease, 
There  was  once  a  road  through  the  woods. 

Yet,  if  you  enter  the  woods 

Of  a  summer  evening  late, 

When  the  night-air  cools  on  the  trout-ringed  pools 

Where  the  otter  whistles  his  mate. 

They  fear  not  men  in  the  woods, 

Because  they  see  so  few 

You  will  hear  the  beat  of  a  horse's  feet, 

And  the  swish  of  a  skirt  in  the  dew, 

Steadily  cantering  through 

The  misty  solitudes, 

As  though  they  perfectly  knew 

The  old  lost  road  through  the  woods.     .     .     . 

But  there  is  no  road  through  the  woods. 


558  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


A  THREE-PART  SONG 

J'M  JUST  in  love  with  all  these  three, 

The  Weald  and  the  Marsh  and  the  Down  countre. 
Nor  I  don't  know  which  I  love  the  most, 
The  Weald  or  the  Marsh  or  the  white  Chalk  coast! 

I've  buried  my  heart  in  a  ferny  hill, 
Twix'  a  liddle  low  shaw  an'  a  great  high  gill. 
Oh  hop-bine  yaller  an*  wood-smoke  blue, 
I  reckon  you'll  keep  her  middling  true! 

I've  loosed  my  mind  for  to  out  and  run 
On  a  Marsh  that  was  old  when  Kings  begun. 
Oh  Romney  Level  and  Brenzett  reeds, 
I  reckon  you  know  what  my  mind  needs! 

I've  given  my  soul  to  the  Southdown  grass, 
And  sheep-bells  tinkled  where  you  pass. 
Oh  Firle  an'  Ditchling  an'  sails  at  sea, 
I  reckon  you  keep  my  soul  for  me! 


THE  RUN  OF  THE  DOWNS 

*T*HE  Weald  is  good,  the  Downs  are  best — 
P II give. you  the  run  of  'em,  East  to  West. 
Beachy  Head  and  Winddoor  Hill, 
They  were  once*  and  they  are  still. 
Firle,  Mount  Caburn  and  Mount  Harry 
Go  back  as  far  as  sums  '11  carry. 
Ditchling  Beacon  and  Chanctonbury  Ring, 
They  have  looked  on  many  a  thing, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  559 

And  what  those  two  have  missed  between  'em, 

I  reckon  Truleigh  Hill  has  seen  'em. 

Highden,  Bignor  and  Duncton  Down 

Knew  Old  England  before  the  Crown. 

Linch  Down,  Treyford  and  Sunwood 

Knew  Old  England  before  the  Flood; 

And  when  you  end  on  the  Hampshire  side — 

Butser's  old  as  Time  and  Tide. 

The  Downs  are  sheep,  the  Weald  is  corn, 

You  be  glad  you  are  Sussex  born  ! 


BROOKLAND  ROAD 

T  WAS  very  well  pleased  with  what  I  knowed, 

I  reckoned  myself  no  fool — 
Till  I  met  with  a  maid  on  the  Brookland  Road, 
That  turned  me  back  to  school. 

Low  down — low  down  ! 
Where  the  liddle  green  lanterns  shine — 
0  maids,  I've  done  with  'ee  all  but  one, 
And  she  can  never  be  mine  ! 

'Twas  right  in  the  middest  of  a  hot  June  night, 

With  thunder  duntin'  round, 

And  I  see'd  her  face  by  the  fairy  light 

That  beats  from  off  the  ground. 

She  only  smiled  and  she  never  spoke, 
She  smiled  and  went  away; 
But  when  she'd  gone  my  heart  was  broke 
And  my  wits  was  clean  astray. 


56o  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

O,  stop  your  ringing  and  let  me  be — 
Let  be,  O  Brookland  bells! 
You'll  ring  Old  Goodman1  out  of  the  sea, 
Before  I  wed  one  else ! 

Old  Goodman's  Farm  is  rank  sea-sand, 
And  was  this  thousand  year; 
But  it  shall  turn  to  rich  plough-land 
Before  I  change  my  dear. 

O,  Fairfield  Church  is  water-bound 
From  autumn  to  the  spring; 
But  it  shall  turn  to  high  hill-ground 
Before  my  bells  do  ring. 

O,  leave  me  walk  on  Brookland  Road, 
In  the  thunder  and  warm  rain — 
O,  leave  me  look  where  my  love  goed, 
And  p'raps  I'll  see  her  again! 

Low  down — low  down  ! 
Where  the  liddle  green  lanterns  shine — 
0  maids,  I've  done  with  'ee  all  but  one, 
And  she  can  never  be  mine  ! 


THE  SACK  OF  THE  GODS 

gTRANGERS  drawn  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  jewelled 
and  plumed  were  we; 

I  was  Lord  of  the  Inca  race,  and  she  was  Queen  of  the  Sea. 

Under  the  stars  beyond  our  stars  where  the  new-forged  mete- 
ors glow, 

Hotly  we  stormed  Valhalla,  a  million  years  ago! 

'Earl  Godwin  of  the  Goodwin  Sands? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  561 

Ever  'neath  high  Valhalla  Hall  the  well-tuned  horns  begin, 
When  the  swords  are  out  in  the  underworld,  and  the  weary  Gods 

come  in. 

Ever  through  high  Valhalla  Gate  the  Patient  Angel  goes 
He  opens  the  eyes  that  are  blind  with  hate — he  joins  the  hands 

of  foes. 


Dust  of  the  stars  was  under  our  feet,  glitter  of  stars  above — 
Wrecks  of  our  wrath  dropped  reeling  down  as  we  fought  and 

we  spurned  and  we  strove. 
Worlds  upon  worlds  we  tossed  aside,  and  scattered  them  to 

and  fro, 
The  night  that  we  stormed  Valhalla,  a  million  years  ago! 


They  are  forgiven  as  they  forgive  all  those  dark  wounds  and  deep, 
Their  beds  are  made  on  the  Lap  of  Time  and  they  lie  down  and 

sleep. 

They  are  forgiven  as  they  forgive  all  those  old  wounds  that  bleed. 
They  shut  their  eyes  from  their  worshippers;  they  sleep  till  the 

world  has  need. 


She  with  the  star  I  had  marked  for  my  own — I  with  my  set 

desire — 
Lost  in  the  loom  of  the  Night  of  Nights — lighted  by  worlds 

afire — 
Met  in  a  war  against  the  Gods  where  the  headlong  meteors 

glow, 
Hewing  our  way  to  Valhalla,  a  million  years  ago! 


They  will  come  back — come  back  again,  as  long  as  the  red  Earth 
rolls. 

He  never  wasted  a  leaf  or  a  tree.  Do  you  think  He  would  squan- 
der souls  ? 


562  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  KINGDOM 

^^OW  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom, 

And  the  State  is  thus  and  thus; 
Our  legions  wait  at  the  Palace  gate — 
Little  it  profits  us. 
Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom  ! 

Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom, 

And  the  Crown  is  ours  to  take — 

With  a  naked  sword  at  the  Council  board, 

And  under  the  throne  the  snake. 

Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom  ! 

Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom, 

And  the  Realm  is  ours  by  right, 

With  shame  and  fear  for  our  daily  cheer, 

And  heaviness  at  night. 

Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom  ! 

Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom, 

But  my  love's  eyelids  fall. 

All  that  I  wrought  for,  all  that  I  fought  for, 

Delight  her  nothing  at  all. 

My  crown  is  of  withered  leaves, 

For  she  sits  in  the  dust  and  grieves. 

Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom  ! 


TARRANT  MOSS 


T  CLOSED  and  drew  for  my  love's  sake 

That  now  is  false  to  me, 
And  I  slew  the  Reiver  of  Tarrant  Moss 
And  set  Dumeny  free. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,  1885-1918  563 

They  have  gone  down,  they  have  gone  down, 
They  are  standing  all  arow — 
Twenty  knights  in  the  peat-water, 
That  never  struck  a  blow! 


Their  armour  shall  not  dull  nor  rust, 
Their  flesh  shall  not  decay, 
For  Tarrant  Moss  holds  them  in  trust, 
Until  the  Judgment  Day. 


Their  soul  went  from  them  in  their  youth, 
Ah  God,  that  mine  had  gone, 
Whenas  I  leaned  on  my  love's  truth 
And  not  on  my  sword  alone! 


Whenas  I  leaned  on  lad's  belief 
And  not  on  my  naked  blade — 
And  I  slew  a  thief,  and  an  honest  thief, 
For  the  sake  of  a  worthless  maid. 


They  have  laid  the  Reiver  low  in  his  place, 
They  have  set  me  up  on  high, 
But  the  twenty  knights  in  the  peat-water 
Are  luckier  than  I ! 


And  ever  they  give  me  gold  and  praise 
And  ever  I  mourn  my  loss — 
For  I  struck  the  blow  for  my  false  love's  sake 
And  not  for  the  Men  of  the  Moss! 


564  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

SIR  RICHARD'S  SONG 

(A.  D.  1066) 

J  FOLLOWED  my  Duke  ere  I  was  a  lover, 

To  take  from  England  fief  and  fee; 
But  now  this  game  is  the  other  way  over — 
But  now  England  hath  taken  me! 

I  had  my  horse,  my  shield  and  banner, 
And  a  boy's  heart,  so  whole  and  free; 

But  now  I  sing  in  another  manner — 
But  now  England  hath  taken  me! 

As  for  my  Father  in  his  tower, 
Asking  news  of  my  ship  at  sea, 

He  will  remember  his  own  hour — 
Tell  him  England  hath  taken  me! 

As  for  my  Mother  in  her  bower, 
That  rules  my  Father  so  cunningly, 

She  will  remember  a  maiden's  power — 
Tell  her  England  hath  taken  me! 

As  for  my  Brother  in  Rouen  City, 
A  nimble  and  naughty  page  is  he, 

But  he  will  come  to  suffer  and  pity — 
Tell  him  England  hath  taken  me! 

As  for  my  little  Sister  waiting 

In  the  pleasant  orchards  of  Normandie, 

Tell  her  youth  is  the  time  for  mating — 
Tell  her  England  hath  taken  me! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  565 

As  for  my  comrades  in  camp  and  highway, 

That  lift  their  eyebrows  scornfully, 
Tell  them  their  way  is  not  my  way — 

Tell  them  England  hath  taken  me! 

Kings  and  Princes  and  Barons  famed, 
Knights  and  Captains  in  your  degree; 

Hear  me  a  little  before  I  am  blamed — 
Seeing  England  hath  taken  me! 

Howso  great  man's  strength  be  reckoned, 

There  are  two  things  he  cannot  flee. 
Love  is  the  first,  and  Death  is  the  second — 

And  Love  in  England  hath  taken  me! 


A    TREE    SONG 

(A.  D.  1200) 

QF  ALL  the  trees  that  grow  so  fair, 

Old  England  to  adorn, 
Greater  are  none  beneath  the  Sun, 

Than  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn. 
Sing  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn,  good  sirs, 

(All  of  a  Midsummer  morn!)  . 
Surely  we  sing  no  little  thing, 

In  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn! 

Oak  of  the  Clay  lived  many  a  day, 

Or  ever  ^Eneas  began. 
Ash  of  the  Loam  was  a  lady  at  home, 

When  Brut  was  an  outlaw  man. 
Thorn  of  the  Down  saw  New  Troy  Town 

(From  which  was  London  born); 
Witness  hereby  the  ancientry 

Of  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn! 


566  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Yew  that  is  old  in  churchyard-mould, 

He  breedeth  a  mighty  bow. 
Alder  for  shoes  do  wise  men  choose, 

And  beech  for  cups  also. 
But  when  ye  have  killed,  and  your  bowl  is  spilled, 

And  your  shoes  are  clean  outworn, 
Back  ye  must  speed  for  all  that  ye  need, 

To  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn! 


Ellum  she  hateth  mankind,  and  waiteth 

Till  every  gust  be  laid, 
To  drop  a  limb  on  the  head  of  him 

That  anyway  trusts  her  shade: 
But  whether  a  lad  be  sober  or  sad, 

Or  mellow  with  ale  from  the  horn, 
He  will  take  no  wrong  when  he  lieth  along 

'Neath  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn! 


Oh,  do  not  tell  the  Priest  our  plight, 

Or  he  would  call  it  a  sin; 
But — we  have  been  out  in  the  woods  all  night, 

A-conjuring  Summer  in! 
And  we  bring  you  news  by  word  of  mouth — 

Good  news  for  cattle  and  corn — 
Now  is  the  Sun  come  up  from  the  South, 

With  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn! 


Sing  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn,  good  sirs 
(All  of  a  Midsummer  morn) ! 

England  shall  bide  till  Judgment  Tide, 
By  Oak,  and  Ash,  and  Thorn! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  567 


THE  FLOODS 

[E  rain  it  rains  without  a  stay 
In  the  hills  above  us,  in  the  hills; 
And  presently  the  floods  break  way 

Whose  strength  is  in  the  hills. 
The  trees  they  suck  from  every  cloud, 
The  valley  brooks  they  roar  aloud — 
Bank-high  for  the  lowlands,  lowlands, 
Lowlands  under  the  hills! 


The  first  wood  down  is  sere  and  small, 

From  the  hills — the  brishings  off  the  hills; 
And  then  come  by  the  bats  and  all 

We  cut  last  year  in  the  hills; 
And  then  the  roots  we  tried  to  cleave 
But  found  too  tough  and  had  to  leave — 
Poking  through  the  lowlands,  lowlands, 
Lowlands  under  the  hills! 


The  eye  shall  look,  the  ear  shall  hark 
To  the  hills,  the  doings  in  the  hills, 
And  rivers  mating  in  the  dark  * 

With  tokens  from  the  hills. 
Now  what  is  weak  will  surely  go, 
And  what  is  strong  must  prove  it  so — 
Stand  fast  in  the  lowlands,  lowlands, 
Lowlands  under  the  hills! 


The  floods  they  shall  not  be  afraid — 
Nor  the  hills  above  'em,  nor  the  hills — 

Of  any  fence  which  man  has  made 
Betwixt  him  and  the  hills. 


568  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  waters  shall  not  reckon  twice 
For  any  work  of  man's  device, 
But  bid  it  down  to  the  lowlands,  lowlands, 
Lowlands  under  the  hills ! 

The  floods  shall  sweep  corruption  clean — 
By  the  hills,  the  blessing  of  the  hills — 

That  more  the  meadows  may  be  green 
New-mended  from  the  hills. 

The  crops  and  cattle  shall  increase, 

Nor  little  childern  shall  not  cease. 

Go — plough  the  lowlands,  lowlands, 
Lowlands  under  the  hills! 


CUCKOO  SONG 

(Spring  begins  in  Southern  England  on  the  i4th  April,  on  which  date  the 
Old  Woman  lets  the  Cuckoo  out  of  her  basket  at  Heathfield  Fair — locally 
known  as  Heffle  Cuckoo  Fair.) 

HPELL  it  to  the  locked-up  trees, 

Cuckoo,  bring  your  song  here! 
Warrant,  Act  and  Summons,  please, 
For  Spring  to  pass  along  here ! 
Tell  old  Winter,  if  he  doubt, 
Tell  him  squat  and  square — a! 
Old  Woman! 
Old  Woman! 

Old  Woman's  let  the  Cuckoo  out 
At  Heffle  Cuckoo  Fair— a  [ 

March  has  searched  and  April  tried — 

'Tisn't  long  to  May  now. 

Not  so  far  to  Whitsuntide 

And  Cuckoo's  come  to  stay  now! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  569 

Hear  the  valiant  fellow  shout 

Down  the  orchard  bare — a! 

Old  Woman! 

Old  Woman! 

Old  Woman's  let  the  Cuckoo  out 

At  Heffle  Cuckoo  Fair — a! 

When  your  heart  is  young  and  gay 

And  the  season  rules  it — 

Work  your  works  and  play  your  play 

'Fore  the  Autumn  cools  it! 

Kiss  you  turn  and  turn-about, 

But  my  lad,  beware — a! 

Old  Woman! 

Old  Woman ! 

Old  Woman's  let  the  Cuckoo  out 

At  Heffle  Cuckoo  Fair — a! 


A  CHARM 

"PAKE  of  English  earth  as  much 

As  either  hand  may  rightly  clutch, 

In  the  taking  of  it  breathe 

Prayer  for  all  who  lie  beneath. 

Not  the  great  nor  well-bespoke, 

But  the  mere  uncounted  folk 

Of  whose  life  and  death  is  none 

Report  or  lamentation. 

Lay  that  earth  upon  thy  heart, 
And  thy  sickness  shall  depart! 

It  shall  sweeten  and  make  whole 
Fevered  breath  and  festered  soul. 
It  shall  mightily  restrain 
Over-busied  hand  and  brain. 


570  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

It  shall  ease  thy  mortal  strife 
'Gainst  the  immortal  woe  of  life, 
Till  thyself,  restored,  shall  prove 
By  what  grace  the  Heavens  do  move. 

Take  of  English  flowers  these — 
Spring's  full-faced  primroses, 
Summer's  wild  wide-hearted  rose, 
Autumn's  wall-flower  of  the  close, 
And,  thy  darkness  to  illume, 
Winter's  bee-thronged  ivy-bloom. 
Seek  and  serve  them  where  they  bide 
From  Candlemas  to  Christmas-tide, 
For  these  simples,  used  aright, 
Can  restore  a  failing  sight. 

These  shall  cleanse  and  purify 
Webbed  and  inward- turning  eye; 
These  shall  show  thee  treasure  hid, 
Thy  familiar  fields  amid; 
And  reveal  (which  is  thy  need) 
Every  man  a  King  indeed! 


THE  PRAIRIE 

T  SEE  the  grass  shake  in  the  sun  for  leagues  on  either  hand, 

I  see  a  river  loop  and  run  about  a  treeless  land — 
An  empty  plain,  a  steely  pond,  a  distance  diamond-clear, 
And  low  blue  naked  hills  beyond.     And  what  is  that  to  fear  ? " 

"Go  softly  by  that  river-side  or,  when  you  would  depart, 
You'll  find  its  every  winding  tied  and  knotted  round  your 

heart. 

Be  wary  as  the  seasons  pass,  or  you  may  ne'er  outrun 
The  wind  that  sets  that  yellowed  grass  a-shiver  'neath  the 

Sun." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  571 

"I  hear  the  summer  storm  outblown — the  drip  of  the  grateful 

wheat. 

I  hear  the  hard  trail  telephone  a  far-off  horse's  feet. 
I  hear  the  horns  of  Autumn  blow  to  the  wild-fowl  overhead; 
And  I  hear  the  hush  before  the  snow.     And  what  is  that  to 

dread?" 


"Take  heed  what  spell  the  lightning  weaves — what  charm  the 

echoes  shape — 

Or,  bound  among  a  million  sheaves,  your  soul  shall  not  escape. 
Bar  home  the  door  of  summer  nights  lest  those  high  planets 

drown 
The  memory  of  near  delights  in  all  the  longed-for  town." 


"What  need  have  I  to  long  or  fear?     Now,  friendly,  I  behold 
My  faithful  seasons  robe  the  year  in  silver  and  in  gold. 
Now  I  possess  and  am  possessed  of  the  land  where  I  would  be, 
And  the  curve  of  half  Earth's  generous  breast  shall  soothe 
and  ravish  me!" 


JOBSON'S  AMEN 

"gLESSED  be  the  English  and  all  their  ways  and  works. 

Cursed  be  the  Infidels,  Hereticks,  and  Turks!" 
"Amen,"  quo'  Jobson,  "but  where  I  used  to  lie 
Was  neither  Candle,  Bell  nor  Book  to  curse  my  brethren  by: 


"  But  a  palm-tree  in  full  bearing,  bowing  down,  bowing  down, 
To  a  surf  that  drove  unsparing  at  the  brown,  walled  town — 
Conches  in  a  temple,  oil-lamps  in  a  dome — 
And  a  low  moon  out  of  Africa  said:   'This  way  home!'" 


572  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Blessed  be  the  English  and  all  that  they  profess. 
Cursed  be  the  Savages  that  prance  in  nakedness!" 
"Amen,"  quo'  Jobson,  "but  where  I  used  to  lie 
Was  neither  shirt  nor  pantaloons  to  catch  my  brethren  by 


"  But  a  well-wheel  slowly  creaking,  going  round,  going  round, 
By  a  water-channel  leaking  over  drowned,  warm  ground — 
Parrots  very  busy  in  the  trellised  pepper-vine — 
And  a  high  sun  over  Asia  shouting:     'Rise  and  shine!'" 


"  Blessed  be  the  English  and  everything  they  own. 
Cursed  be  the  Infidels  that  bow  to  wood  and  stone!" 
"Amen,"  quo'  Jobson,  "but  where  I  used  to  lie 
Was  neither  pew  nor  Gospelleer  to  save  my  brethren  by: 


"But  a  desert  stretched  and  stricken,  left  and  right,  left  and 

right, 

Where  the  piled  mirages  thicken  under  white-hot  light — 
A  skull  beneath  a  sand-hill  and  a  viper  coiled  inside — 
And  a  red  wind  out  of  Libya  roaring:  'Run  and  hide!'" 


"Blessed  be  the  English  and  all  they  make  or  do. 
Cursed  be  the  Hereticks  who  doubt  that  this  is  true!1 
"Amen,"  quo'  Jobson,  "but  where  I  mean  to  die 
Is  neither  rule  nor  calliper  to  judge  the  matter  by: 


"But  Himalaya  heavenward-heading,  sheer  and  vast,  sheer 

and  vast, 

In  a  million  summits  bedding  on  the  last  world's  past — 
A  certain  sacred  mountain  where  the  scented  cedars  climb, 
And — the  feet  of  my  Beloved  hurrying  back  through  Time!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  573 

CHAPTER  HEADINGS 
PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

J^OOK,  you  have  cast  out  Love!     What  Gods  are  these 

You  bid  me  please? 

The  Three  in  One,  the  One  in  Three?     Not  so! 
To  my  own  Gods  I  go. 
It  may  be  they  shall  give  me  greater  ease 
Than  your  cold  Christ  and  tangled  Trinities. 

Lispeth. 

When  the  earth  was  sick  and  the  skies  were  grey, 
And  the  woods  were  rotted  with  rain, 
The  Dead  Man  rode  through  the  autumn  day 
To  visit  his  love  again. 

His  love  she  neither  saw  nor  heard, 
So  heavy  was  her  shame; 
And  tho'  the  babe  within  her  stirred 
She  knew  not  that  he  came. 

The  Other  Man. 

Cry  "Murder"  in  the  market-place,  and  each 

Will  turn  upon  his  neighbour  anxious  eyes 

Asking:  "Art  thou  the  man?"  We  hunted  Cain 

Some  centuries  ago  across  the  world. 

This  bred  the  fear  our  own  misdeeds  maintain 

To-day. 

His  Wedded  Wife. 

Go,  stalk  the  red  deer  o'er  the  heather, 
Ride,  follow  the  fox  if  you  can ! 
But,  for  pleasure  and  profit  together, 


574  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Allow  me  the  hunting  of  Man — 

The  chase  of  the  Human,  the  search  for  the  Soul 

To  its  ruin — the  hunting  of  Man. 

Pig- 

"Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own 
Look  at  him  cutting  it — cur  to  the  bone!" 
Ask  ere  the  youngster  be  rated  and  chidden 
What  did  he  carry  and  how  was  he  ridden  ? 
Maybe  they  used  him  too  much  at  the  start. 
Maybe  Fate's  weight-cloths  are  breaking  his  heart. 

In  the  Pride  of  his  Youth. 

"And  some  are  sulky,  while  some  will  plunge. 
(So  ho  !     Steady  !     Stand  still,  you  /) 
Some  you  must  gentle,  and  some  you  must  lunge. 
(There  !     There  !    Who  wants  to  kill  you  .?) 
Some — there  are  losses  in  every  trade — 
Will  break  their  hearts  ere  bitted  and  made, 
W7ill  fight  like  fiends  as  the  rope  cuts  hard, 
And  die  dumb-mad  in  the  breaking-yard." 

Thrown  Away, 

The  World  hath  set  its  heavy  yoke 
Upon  the  old  white-bearded  folk 
Who  strive  to  please  the  King. 
God's  mercy  is  upon  the  young, 
God's  wisdom  in  the  baby  tongue 
That  fears  not  anything. 

Tod's  Amendment. 

Not  though  you  die  to-night,  O  Sweet,  and  wail, 

A  spectre  at  my  door, 

Shall  mortal  Fear  make  Love  immortal  fail — 

I  shall  but  love  you  more, 

Who,  from  Death's  House  returning,  give  me  still 

One  moment's  comfort  in  my  matchless  ill. 

By  Word  of  Mouth. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  575 

They  burnt  a  corpse  upon  the  sand — 

The  light  shone  out  afar; 

It  guided  home  the  plunging  dhows 

That  beat  from  Zanzibar. 

Spirit  of  Fire,  where'er  Thy  altars  rise, 

Thou  art  the  Light  of  Guidance  to-our  eyes! 

In  Error. 

Ride  with  an  idle  whip,  ride  with  an  unused  heel, 
But,  once  in  a  way,  there  will  come  a  day 
When  the  colt  must  be  taught  to  feel 

The  lash  that  falls,  and  the  curb  that  galls,  and  the  sting  of 
the  rowelled  steel. 

The  Conversion  of  Aurelian  McGoggin. 

It  was  not  in  the  open  fight        , 

We  threw  away  the  sword, 

But  in  the  lonely  watching 

In  the  darkness  by  the  ford. 

The  waters  lapped,  the  night-wind  blew, 

Full-armed  the  Fear  was  born  and  grew, 

And  we  were  flying  ere  we  knew 

From  panic  in  the  night. 

The  Rout  of  the  White  Hussars. 

In  the  daytime,  when  she  moved  about  me, 

In  the  night,  when  she  was  sleeping  at  my  side, — 

I  was  wearied,  I  was  wearied  of  her  presence. 

Day  by  day  and  night  by  night  I  grew  to  hate  her — 

Would  God  that  she  or  I  had  died! 

The  Bronckhorst  Divorce  Case. 

A  stone's  throw  out  on  either  hand 
From  that  well-ordered  road  we  tread, 
And  all  the  world  is  wild  and  strange; 
Churl  and  ghoul  and  Djinn  and  sprite 


576  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Shall  bear  us  company  to-night, 

For  we  have  reached  the  Oldest  Land 

Wherein  the  powers  of  Darkness  range. 

In  the  House  of  Suddhoo. 


To-night,  God  knows  what  thing  shall  tide, 
The  Earth  is  racked  and  fain — 
Expectant,  sleepless,  open-eyed; 
And  we,  who  from  the  Earth  were  made, 
Thrill  with  our  Mother's  pain. 

False  Dawn. 


Pit  where  the  buffalo  cooled  his  hide, 

By  the  hot  sun  emptied,  and  blistered  and  dried; 

Log  in  the  plume-grass,  hidden  and  lone; 

Bund  where  the  earth-rat's  mounds  are  strown; 

Cave  in  the  bank  where  the  sly  stream  steals; 

Aloe  that  stabs  at  the  belly  and  heels, 

Jump  if  you  dare  on  a  steed  untried — 

Safer  it  is  to  go  wide — go  wide! 

Hark,  from  in  front  where  the  best  men  ride; — 

"  Pull  to  the  off,  boys  !    Wide  !     Go  wide  !  " 

Cupid's  Arrows. 


He  drank  strong  waters  and  his  speech  was  coarse; 

He  purchased  raiment  and  forbore  to  pay; 

He  stuck  a  trusting  junior  with  a  horse, 

And  won  gymkhanas  in  a  doubtful  way. 

Then,  'twixt  a  vice  and  folly,  turned  aside 

To  do  good  deeds  and  straight  to  cloak  them,  lied. 

A  Bank  Fraud. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  577 


COLD  IRON 

is  for  the  mistress  —  silver  for  the  maid  — 
Copper  for  the  craftsman  cunning  at  his  trade." 
"Good!"  said  the  Baron,  sitting  in  his  hall, 
"But  Iron  —  Cold  Iron  —  is  master  of  them  all." 

So  he  made  rebellion  'gainst  the  King  his  liege, 
Camped  before  his  citadel  and  summoned  it  to  siege. 
"Nay!"  said  the  cannoneer  on  the  castle  wall, 
"But  Iron  —  Cold  Iron  —  shall  be  master  of  you  all!" 

Woe  for  the  Baron  and  his  knights  so  strong, 
When  the  cruel  cannon-balls  laid  'em  all  along; 
He  was  taken  prisoner,  he  was  cast  in  thrall, 
And  Iron—  Cold  Iron  —  was  master  of  it  all! 

Yet  his  King  spake  kindly  (ah,  how  kind  a  Lord  !) 
"What  if  I  release  thee  now  and  give  thee  back  thy  sword?" 
"Nay!"  said  the  Baron,  "mock  not  at  my  fall,    ' 
For  Iron  —  Cold  Iron  —  is  master  of  men  all." 

"  Tears  are  for  the  craven,  prayers  are  for  the  clown  — 
Halters  for  the  silly  neck  that  cannot  keep  a  crown" 
"As  my  loss  is  grievous,  so  my  hope  is  small, 
For  Iron  —  Cold  Iron  —  must  be  master  of  men  all!" 

Yet  his  King  made  answer  (few  such  Kings  there  be!) 
"Here  is  Bread  and  here  is  Wine  —  sit  and  sup  with  me. 
Eat  and  drink  in  Mary's  Name,  the  whiles  I  do  recall 
How  Iron  —  Cold  Iron  —  can  be  master  of  men  all!" 

He  took  the  Wine  and  blessed  it.     He  blessed  and  brake  the 

Bread, 
With  His  own  Hands  He  served  Them,  and  presently  He 

said: 


578  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"See!  These  Hands  they  pierced  with  nails,  outside  My  city 

wall, 
Show  Iron — Cold  Iron — to  be  master  of  men  all: 

"Wounds  are  for  the  desperate,  blows  are  for  the  strong. 
Balm  and  oil  for  weary  hearts  all  cut  and  bruised  with  wrong. 
I  forgive  thy  treason — I  redeem  thy  fall — 
For  Iron — Cold  Iron — must  be  master  of  men  all ! " 

"Crowns  are  for  the  valiant — sceptres  for  the  bold  ! 

Thrones  and  powers  for  mighty  men  who  dare  to  take  and  hold." 

"Nay!"  said  the  Baron,  kneeling  in  his  hall, 

"But  Iron — Cold  Iron — is  master  of  men  all! 

Iron  out  of  Calvary  is  master  of  men  all!" 


A  SONG  OF  KABIR 

(~)H,  LIGHT  was  the  world  that  he  weighed  in  his  hands! 

Oh,  heavy  the  tale  of  his  fiefs  and  his  lands! 
He  has  gone  from  the  guddee  and  put  on  the  shroud, 
And  departed  in  guise  of  bairagi1  avowed! 

Now  the  white  road  to  Delhi  is  mat  for  his  feet. 
The  sal  and  the  kikar2  must  guard  him  from  heat. 
His  home  is  the  camp,  and  the  waste,  and  the  crowd — 
He  is  seeking  the  Way  as  bairagi  avowed! 

He  has  looked  upon  Man,  and  his  eyeballs  are  clear — 
(There  was  One;  there  is  One,  and  but  One,  saith  Kabir); 
The  Red  Mist  of  Doing  has  thinned  to  a  cloud — 
He  has  taken  the  Path  for  bairagi  avowed ! 

To  learn  and  discern  of  his  brother  the  clod, 
Of  his  brother  the  brute,  and  his  brother  the  God, 
He  has  gone  from  the  council  and  put  on  the  shroud 
("Can  ye  hear?"  saith  Kabir),  a  bairagi  avowed! 
1  Wandering  holy  man.  *  Wayside  trees. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  579 


A  CAROL 

()UR  Lord  Who  did  the  Ox  command 

To  kneel  to  Judah's  King, 
He  binds  His  frost  upon  the  land 

To  ripen  it  for  Spring — 
To  ripen  it  for  Spring,  good  sirs, 

According  to  His  Word. 
Which  well  must  be  as  ye  can  see — 

And  who  shall  judge  the  Lord? 


When  we  poor  fenmen  skate  the  ice 

Or  shiver  on  the  wold, 
We  hear  the  cry  of  a  single  tree 

That  breaks  her  heart  in  the  cold — 
That  breaks  her  heart  in  the  cold,  good  sirs, 

And  rendeth  by  the  board. 
Which  well  must  be  as  ye  can  see — 

And  who  shall  judge  the  Lord? 


Her  wood  is  crazed  and  little  worth 

Excepting  as  to  burn, 
That  we  may  warm  and  make  our  mirth 

Until  the  Spring  return — 
Until  the  Spring  return,  good  sirs, 

When  Christians  walk  abroad; 
Which  well  must  be  as  ye  can  see — 

And  who  shall  judge  the  Lord? 


God  bless  the  master  of  this  house, 
And  all  who  sleep  therein! 

And  guard  the  fens  from  pirate  folk, 
And  keep  us  all  from  sin, 


580  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

To  walk  in  honesty,  good  sirs, 
Of  thought  and  deed  and  word! 

Which  shall  befriend  our  latter  end.     . 
And  who  shall  judge  the  Lord? 


"MY  NEW-CUT  ASHLAR" 

\/l Y  NEW-CUT  ashlar  takes  the  light 

Where  crimson-blank  the  windows  flare. 
By  my  own  work  before  the  night, 
Great  Overseer,  I  make  my  prayer. 

If  there  be  good  in  that  I  wrought 
Thy  Hand  compelled  it,  Master,  Thine — 
Where  I  have  failed  to  meet  Thy  Thought 
I  know,  through  Thee,  the  blame  was  mine. 

The  depth  and  dream  of  my  desire, 
The  bitter  paths  wherein  I  stray — 
Thou  knowest  Who  hast  made  the  Fire, 
Thou  knowest  Who  hast  made  the  Clay. 

Who,  lest  all  thought  of  Eden  fade, 
Bring'st  Eden  to  the  craftsman's  brain — 
Godlike  to  muse  o'er  his  own  Trade 
And  manlike  stand  with  God  again! 

One  stone  the  more  swings  into  place 
In  that  dread  Temple  of  Thy  worth. 
It  is  enough  that,  through  Thy  Grace, 
I  saw  nought  common  on  Thy  Earth. 

Take  not  that  vision  from  my  ken — 
Oh  whatsoe'er  may  spoil  or  speed. 
Help  me  to  need  no  aid  from  men 
That  I  may  help  such  men  as  need! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  581 

EDDI'S  SERVICE 

(A.  D.  687) 

JTT)DI,  priest  of  St.  Wilfrid 

In  his  chapel  at  Manhood  End, 
Ordered  a  midnight  service 
For  such  as  cared  to  attend. 

But  the  Saxons  were  keeping  Christmas, 
And  the  night  was  stormy  as  well. 

Nobody  came  to  service, 
Though  Eddi  rang  the  bell. 

"'Wicked  weather  for  walking," 

Said  Eddi  of  Manhood  End. 
"But  I  must  go  on  with  the  service 

For  such  as  care  to  attend." 


The  altar-lamps  were  lighted, — 
An  old  marsh-donkey  came, 

Bold  as  a  guest  invited, 

And  stared  at  the  guttering  flame. 

The  storm  beat  on  at  the  windows, 
The  water  splashed  on  the  floor, 

And  a  wet,  yoke-weary  bullock 
Pushed  in  through  the  open  door. 

"How  do  I  know  what  is  greatest, 
How  do  I  know  what  is  least? 

That  is  My  Father's  business," 
Said  Eddi,  Wilfrid's  priest. 


582  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"But — three  are  gathered  together — 

Listen  to  me  and  attend. 
I  bring  good  news,  my  brethren!" 

Said  Eddi  of  Manhood  End. 

And  he  told  the  Ox  of  a  Manger 

And  a  Stall  in  Bethlehem, 
And  he  spoke  to  the  Ass  of  a  Rider, 

That  rode  to  Jerusalem. 

They  steamed  and  dripped  in  the  chancel, 
They  listened  and  never  stirred, 

While,  just  as  though  they  were  Bishops, 
Eddi  preached  them  The  Word, 

Till  the  gale  blew  off  on  the  marshes 
And  the  windows  showed  the  day, 

And  the  Ox  and  the  Ass  together 
Wheeled  and  clattered  away. 

And  when  the  Saxons  mocked  him, 
Said  Eddi  of  Manhood  End, 

"I  dare  not  shut  His  chapel 
On  such  as  care  to  attend." 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MIRTH 

Four  Archangels,  so  the  legends  tell, 
Raphael,  Gabriel,  Michael,  Azrael, 
Being  first  of  those  to  whom  the  Power  was  shown, 
Stood  first  of  all  the  Host  before  The  Throne, 
And,  when  the  Charges  were  allotted,  burst 
Tumultuous-winged  from  out  the  assembly  first. 
Zeal  was  their  spur  that  bade  them  strictly  heed 
Their  own  high  judgment  on  their  lightest  deed. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  583 

Zeal  was  their  spur  that,  when  relief  was  given, 

Urged  them  unwearied  to  new  toils  in  Heaven; 

For  Honour's  sake  perfecting  every  task 

Beyond  what  e'en  Perfection's  self  could  ask.     .     .     . 

And  Allah,  Who  created  Zeal  and  Pride, 

Knows  how  the  twain  are  perilous-near  allied. 


It  chanced  on  one  of  Heaven's  long-lighted  days, 
The  Four  and  all  the  Host  being  gone  their  ways 
Each  to  his  Charge,  the  shining  Courts  were  void 
Save  for  one  Seraph  whom  no  charge  employed, 
With  folden  wings  and  slumber-threatened  brow, 
To  whom  The  Word:    "Beloved,  what  dost  thou?" 
"  By  the  Permission,"  came  the  answer  soft, 
Little  I  do  nor  do  that  little  oft. 
As  is  The  Will  in  Heaven  so  on  Earth 
Where  by  The  Will  I  strive  to  make  men  mirth." 
He  ceased  and  sped,  hearing  The  Word  once  more: 
"Beloved,  go  thy  way  and  greet  the  Four." 


Systems  and  Universes  overpast, 

The  Seraph  came  upon  the  Four,  at  last, 

Guiding  and  guarding  with  devoted  mind 

The  tedious  generations  of  mankind 

Who  lent  at  most  unwilling  ear  and  eye 

When  they  could  not  escape  the  ministry.     ,    . 

Yet,  patient,  faithful,  firm,  persistent,  just 

Toward  all  that  gross,  indifferent,  facile  dust, 

The  Archangels  laboured  to  discharge  their  trust 

By  precept  and  example,  prayer  and  law, 

Advice,  reproof,  and  rule,  but,  labouring,  saw 

Each  in  his  fellows'  countenance  confessed, 

The  Doubt  that  sickens:  "Have  I  done  my  best?" 


S84  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Even  as  they  sighed  and  turned  to  toil  anew, 
The  Seraph  hailed  them  with  observance  due; 
And,  after  some  fit  talk  of  higher  things, 
Touched  tentative  on  mundane  happenings. 
This  they  permitting,  he,  emboldened  thus, 
Prolused  of  humankind  promiscuous, 
And,  since  the  large  contention  less  avails 
Than  instances  observed,  he  told  them  tales — 
Tales  of  the  shop,  the  bed,  the  court,  the  street, 
Intimate,  elemental,  indiscreet: 
Occasions  where  Confusion  smiting  swift 
Piles  jest  on  jest  as  snow-slides  pile  the  drift 
Whence,  one  by  one,  beneath  derisive  skies, 
The  victims'  bare,  bewildered  heads  arise — 
Tales  of  the  passing  of  the  spirit,  graced 
With  humour  blinding  as  the  doom  it  faced — 
Stark  tales  of  ribaldy  that  broke  aside 
To  tears,  by  laughter  swallowed  ere  they  dried — 
Tales  to  which  neither  grace  nor  gain  accrue, 
But  only  (Allah  be  exalted!)  true, 
And  only,  as  the  Seraph  showed  that  night, 
Delighting  to  the  limits  of  delight. 


These  he  rehearsed  with  artful  pause  and  halt, 
And  such  pretence  of  memory  at  fault, 
That  soon  the  Four — so  well  the  bait  was  thrown- 
Came  to  his  aid  with  memories  of  their  own — 
Matters  dismissed  long  since  as  small  or  vain, 
Whereof  the  high  significance  had  lain 
Hid,  till  the  ungirt  glosses  made  it  plain. 
Then,  as  enlightenment  came  broad  and  fast, 
Each  marvelled  at  his  own  oblivious  past 
Until — the  Gates  of  Laughter  opened  wide — 
The  Four,  with  that  bland  Seraph  at  their  side, 
While  they  recalled,  compared,  and  amplified, 
In  utter  mirth  forgot  both  Zeal  and  Pride! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  585 

High  over  Heaven  the  lamps  of  midnight  burned 

Ere,  weak  with  merriment,  the  Four  returned, 

Not  in  that  order  they  were  wont  to  keep — 

Pinion  to  pinion  answering,  sweep  for  sweep, 

In  awful  diapason  heard  afar — 

But  shoutingly  adrift  'twixt  star  and  star; 

Reeling  a  planet's  orbit  left  or  right 

As  laughter  took  them  in  the  abysmal  Night; 

Or,  by  the  point  of  some  remembered  jest, 

Winged  and  brought  helpless  down  through  gulfs  unguessed, 

Where  the  blank  worlds  that  gather  to  the  birth 

Leaped  in  the  Womb  of  Darkness  at  their  mirth, 

And  e'en  Gehenna's  bondsmen  understood. 

They  were  not  damned  from  human  brotherhood     .     .     . 

Not  first  nor  last  of  Heaven's  high  Host,  the  Four 

That  night  took  place  beneath  The  Throne  once  more. 

O  lovelier  than  their  morning  majesty, 

The  understanding  light  behind  the  eye! 

O  more  compelling  than  their  old  command, 

The  new-learned  friendly  gesture  of  the  hand! 

O  sweeter  than  their  zealous  fellowship, 

The  wise  half-smile  that  passed  from  lip  to  lip! 

O  well  and  roundly,  when  Command  was  given, 

They  told  their  tale  against  themselves  to  Heaven, 

And  in  the  silence,  waiting  on  The  Word, 

Received  the  Peace  and  Pardon  of  The  Lord  1 


SHIV  AND  THE  GRASSHOPPER 

,  who  poured  the  harvest  and  made  the  winds  to 

blow, 

Sitting  at  the  doorways  of  a  day  of  long  ago, 
Gave  to  each  his  portion,  food  and  toil  and  fate, 
From  the  King  upon  the  guddee1  to  the  Beggar  at  the  gate. 
1  Throne. 


586  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

All  things  made  he — Shiva  the  Preserver. 

Mahadeo  !    Mahadeo  I    He  made  all, — 

Thorn  for  the  camel,  fodder  for  the  kine, 

And  Mother  s  heart  Jor  sleepy  head,  0  little  Son  of  mine  ! 


Wheat  he  gave  to  rich  folk,  millet  to  the  poor, 

Broken  scraps  for  holy  men  that  beg  from  door  to  door; 

Cattle  to  the  tiger,  carrion  to  the  kite, 

And  rags  and  bones  to  wicked  wolves  without  the  wall  at 

night. 

Naught  he  found  too  lofty,  none  he  saw  too  low — 
Parbati  beside  him  watched  them  come  and  go; 
Thought  to  cheat  her  husband,  turning  Shiv  to  jest— 
Stole  the  little  grasshopper  and  hid  it  in  her  breast. 

So  she  tricked  him,  Shiva  the  Preserver. 

Mahadeo  !    Mahadeo,  turn  and  see  ! 

Tall  are  the  camels,  heavy  are  the  kine, 

But  this  was  Least  of  Little  Things,  O  little  Son  of  mine  I 


When  the  dole  was  ended,  laughingly  she  said, 
"Master,  of  a  million  mouths  is  not  one  unfed?" 
Laughing,  Shiv  made  answer,  "All  have  had  their  part, 
Even  he,  the  little  one,  hidden  'neath  thy  heart." 
From  her  breast  she  plucked  it,  Parbati  the  thief, 
Saw  the  Least  of  Little  Things  gnawed  a  new-grown  leaf! 
Saw  and  feared  and  wondered,  making  prayer  to  Shiv, 
Who  hath  surely  given  meat  to  all  that  live ! 

All  things  made  he — Shiva  the  Preserver. 

Mahadeo  I    Mahadeo  !    He  made  all, — 

Thorn  for  the  camel,  fodder  for  the  kine, 

And  Mother  s  heart  for  sleepy  head,  0  little  Son  of  mine  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  587 

THE  FAIRIES'  SIEGE 

T  HAVE  been  given  my  charge  to  keep — 

Well  have  I  kept  the  same! 
Playing  with  strife  for  the  most  of  my  life, 
But  this  is  a  different  game. 
P\\  not  fight  against  swords  unseen, 
Or  spears  that  I  cannot  view — 
Hand  him  the  keys  of  the  place  on  your  knees — 
'Tis  the  Dreamer  whose  dreams  come  true ! 

Ask  him  his  terms  and  accept  them  at  once. 

Quick,  ere  we  anger  him,  go! 

Never  before  have  I  flinched  from  the  guns, 

But  this  is  a  different  show. 

P\\  not  fight  with  the*Herald  of  God 

(I  know  what  his  Master  can  do!) 

Open  the  gate,  he  must  enter  in  state, 

'Tis  the  Dreamer  whose  dreams  come  true! 

I'd  not  give  way  for  an  Emperor, 

I'd  hold  my  road  for  a  King — 

To  the  Triple  Crown  I  would  not  bow  down — 

But  this  is  a  different  thing. 

r\\  not  fight  with  the  Powers  of  Air, 

Sentry,  pass  him  through! 

Drawbridge  let  fall,  'tis  the  Lord  of  us  all, 

The  Dreamer  whose  dreams  come  true! 

THE  CHILDREN 

1917 

'"pHESE  were  our  children  who  died  for  our  lands:  they 

were  dear  in  our  sight. 

We  have  only  the  memory  left  of  their  home-treasured 
sayings  and  laughter. 


588  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  price  of  our  loss  shall  be  paid  to  our  hands,  not  an- 
other's hereafter. 

Neither  the  Alien  nor  Priest  shall  decide  on  it.     That  is  our 
right. 

But  who  shall  return  us  the  children  ? 

At  the  hour  the  Barbarian  chose  to  disclose  his  pretences, 
And  raged  against  Man,  they  engaged,  on  the  breasts  that 

they  bared  for  us, 

The  first  felon-stroke  of  the  sword  he  had  long-time  pre- 
pared for  us — 

Their  bodies  were  all  our  defense  while  we  wrought  our 
defenses. 

They  bought  us  anew  with  their  blood,  forbearing  to  blame 

us, 
Those  hours  which  we  had  not  made  good  when  the  Judgment 

o'ercame  us. 
They  believed  us  and  perished  for  it.     Our  statecraft,  our 

learning 

Delivered  them  bound  to  the  Pit  and  alive  to  the  burning 
Whither  they  mirthfully  hastened  as  jostling  for  honour — 
Not  since  her  birth  has  our  Earth  seen  such  worth  loosed 

upon  her. 

Nor  was  their  agony  brief,  or  once  only  imposed  on  them. 
The  wounded,  the  war-spent,  the  sick  received  no  exemp- 
tion: 
Being  cured  they  returned  and  endured  and  achieved  our 

redemption, 

Hopeless  themselves  of  relief,  till  Death,  marvelling,  closed 
on  them. 

That  flesh  we  had  nursed  from  the  first  in  all  cleanness  was 

given 
To  corruption  unveiled  and  assailed  by  the  malice  of  Heaven — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  589 

By  the  heart-shaking  jests  of  Decay  where  it  lolled  on  the 

wires — 
To  be  blanched  or  gay-painted  by  fumes — to  be  cindered  by 

fires — 

To  be  senselessly  tossed  and  retossed  in  stale  mutilation 
From  crater  to  crater.     For  this  we  shall  take  expiation. 
But  who  shall  return  us  our  children  ? 


A  SONG  TO  MITHRAS 

(Hymn  of  the  XXX  Legion:  circa  350  A.  D.) 

\^ITHRAS,  God  of  the  Morning,  our  trumpets  waken  the 
Y1      Wall! 

"Rome  is  above  the  Nations,  but  Thou  art  over  all!" 
Now  as  the  names  are  answered,  and  the  guards  are  marched 

away, 
Mithras,  also  a  soldier,  give  us  strength  for  the  day! 

Mithras,  God  of  the  Noontide,  the  heather  swims  in  the  heat. 
Our  helmets  scorch  our  foreheads,  our  sandals  burn  our  feet. 
Now  in  the  ungirt  hour — now  ere  we  blink  and  drowse, 
Mithras,  also  a  soldier,  keep  us  true  to  our  vows! 

Mithras,  God  of  the  Sunset,  low  on  the  Western  main — 
Thou  descending  immortal,  immortal  to  rise  again! 
Now  when  the  watch  is  ended,  now  when  the  wine  is  drawn, 
Mithras,  also  a  soldier,  keep  us  pure  till  the  dawn! 

Mithras,  God  of  the  Midnight,  here  where  the  great  bull  dies, 
Look  on  thy  children  in  darkness.     Oh  take  our  sacrifice! 
Many  roads  thou  hast  fashioned — all  of  them  lead  to  the 

Light, 
Mithras,  also  a  soldier,  teach  us  to  die  aright! 


590  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  NEW  KNIGHTHOOD 

YyHO  gives  him  the  Bath? 

"I,"  said  the  wet, 
Rank-jungle-sweat, 
"I'll  give  him  the  Bath!" 

Who'll  sing  the  psalms? 
"We,"  said  the  Palms. 
"Ere  the  hot  wind  becalms, 
"We'll  sing  the  psalms." 

Who  lays  on  the  sword  ? 
"I,"  said  the  Sun, 
"Before  he  has  done, 
"I'll  lay  on  the  sword." 

"Who  fastens  his  belt? 
"I,"  said  Short-Rations, 
"  I  know  all  the  fashions 
"Of  tightening  a  belt!" 

Who  gives  him  his  spur? 
"I,"  said  his  Chief, 
Exacting  and  brief, 
"I'll  give  him  the  spur." 

Who'll  shake  his  hand? 
"I,"  said  the  Fever, 
"And  I'm  no  deceiver, 
"I'll  shake  his  hand." 

Who  brings  him  the  wine? 
"I,"  said  Quinine, 
"  It's  a  habit  of  mine. 
"I'll  come  with  his  wine.'" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  591 

Who'll  put  him  to  proof? 
"I,"  said  All  Earth. 
"Whatever  he's  worth, 
"I'll  put  to  the  proof." 

Who'll  choose  him  for  Knight? 
"I,"  said  his  Mother, 
"  Before  any  other, 
"My  very  own  Knight." 

And  after  this  fashion,  adventure  to  seek, 

Was  Sir  Galahad  made — as  it  might  be  last  week! 


OUTSONG  IN  THE  JUNGLE 

BALOO 

the  sake  of  him  who  showed 
One  wise  Frog  the  Jungle-Road, 
Keep  the  Law  the  Man-Pack  make 
For  thy  blind  old  Baloo's  sake! 
Clean  or  tainted,  hot  or  stale, 
Hold  it  as  it  were  the  Trail, 
Through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 
Questing  neither  left  nor  right. 
For  the  sake  of  him  who  loves 
Thee  beyond  all  else  that  moves, 
When  thy  Pack  would  make  thee  pain, 
Say:  "Tabaqui  sings  again." 
When  thy  Pack  would  work  thee  ill, 
Say:    "Shere  Khan  is  yet  to  kill." 
When  the  knife  is  drawn  to  slay, 
Keep  the  Law  and  go  thy  way. 
(Root  and  honey,  palm  and  spathe, 
Guard  a  cub  from  harm  and  scathe!) 
Wood  and  Water,  Wind  and  Tree, 
Jungle-Favour  go  with  thee  ! 


S92  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


KAA 

Anger  is  the  egg  of  Fear- 
Only  lidless  eyes  see  clear. 
Cobra-poison  none  may  leech — 
Even  so  with  Cobra-speech. 
Open  talk  shall  call  to  thee. 
Strength,  whose  mate  is  Courtesy. 
Send  no  lunge  beyond  thy  length. 
Lend  no  rotten  bough  thy  strength. 
Gauge  thy  gape  with  buck  or  goat, 
Lest  thine  eye  should  choke  thy  throat. 
After  gorging,  wouldst  thou  sleep? 
Look  thy  den  be  hid  and  deep, 
Lest  a  wrong,  by  thee  forgot, 
Draw  thy  killer  to  the  spot. 
East  and  West  and  North  and  South, 
Wash  thy  hide  and  close  thy  mouth. 
(Pit  and  rift  and  blue  pool-brim, 
Middle-Jungle  follow  him!) 
Wood  and  Water,  Wind  and  Tree, 
Jungle-Favour  go  with  thee  ! 

BAGHEERA 

In  the  cage  my  life  began; 
Well  I  know  the  worth  of  Man. 
By  the  Broken  Lock  that  freed — 
Man-cub,  'ware  the  Man-cub's  breed! 
Scenting-dew  or  starlight  pale, 
Choose  no  tangled  tree-cat  trail. 
Pack  or  council,  hunt  or  den, 
Cry  no  truce  with  Jackal-Men. 
Feed  them  silence  when  they  say: 
"Come  with  us  an  easy  way." 
Feed  them  silence  when  they  seek 
Help  of  thine  to  hurt  the  weak. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  593 

Make  no  bandar's  boast  of  skill; 
Hold  thy  peace  above  the  kill. 
Let  nor  call  nor  song  nor  sign 
Turn  thee  from  thy  hunting-line. 
(Morning  mist  or  twilight  clear, 
Serve  him,  Wardens  of  the  Deer!) 
Wood  and  Water,  Wind  and  Tree, 
Jungle-Favour  go  with  thee! 

THE  THREE 

On  the  trail  that  thou  must  tread 
To  the  thresholds  of  our  dread. 
Where  the  Flower  blossoms  red; 
Through  the  nights  when  thou  shalt  lie 
Prisoned  from  our  Mother-sky, 
Hearing  us,  thy  loves,  go  by; 
In  the  dawns  when  thou  shalt  wake 
To  the  toil  thou  canst  not  break, 
Heartsick  for  the  Jungle's  sake; 
Wood  and  Water,  Wind  and  Tree, 
Wisdom,  Strength,  and  Courtesy, 
Jungle-Favour  go  with  thee! 


HARP  SONG  OF  THE  DANE  WOMEN 

is  a  woman  that  you  forsake  her, 
And  the  hearth-fire  and  the  home-acre, 
To  go  with  the  old  grey  Widow-maker? 

She  has  no  house  to  lay  a  guest  in — 

But  one  chill  bed  for  all  to  rest  in, 

That  the  pale  suns  and  the  stray  bergs  nest  in. 

She  has  no  strong  white  arms  to  fold  you, 

But  the  ten-times-fingering  weed  to  hold  you- 

Out  on  the  rocks  where  the  tide  has  rolled  you. 


594  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Yet,  when  the  signs  of  summer  thicken, 

And  the  ice  breaks,  and  the  birch-buds  quicken, 

Yearly  you  turn  from  our  side,  and  sicken — 

Sicken  again  for  the  shouts  and  the  slaughters. 

You  steal  away  to  the  lapping  waters, 

And  look  at  your  ship  in  her  winter-quarters. 

You  forget  our  mirth,  and  talk  at  the  tables, 

The  kine  in  the  shed  and  the  horse  in  the  stables — 

To  pitch  her  sides  and  go  over  her  cables. 

Then  you  drive  out  where  the  storm-clouds  swallow, 
And  the  sound  of  your  oar-blades,  falling  hollow, 
Is  all  we  have  left  through  the  months  to  follow. 

Ah,  what  is  Woman  that  you  forsake  her, 
And  the  hearth-fire  and  the  home-acre, 
To  go  with  the  old  grey  Widow-maker? 


THE  THOUSANDTH  MAN 

/~\NE  man  in  a  thousand,  Solomon  says, 

^^  Will  stick  more  close  than  a  brother. 

And  it's  worth  while  seeking  him  half  your  days 

If  you  find  him  before  the  other. 

Nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  depend 

On  what  the  world  sees  in  you, 

But  the  Thousandth  Man  will  stand  your  friend 

With  the  whole  round  world  agin  you. 

Tis  neither  promise  nor  prayer  nor  show 
Will  settle  the  finding  for  'ee. 
Nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  'em  go 
By  your  looks,  or  your  acts,  or  your  glory. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  595 

But  if  he  finds  you  and  you  find  him, 
The  rest  of  the  world  don't  matter; 
For  the  Thousandth  Man  will  sink  or  swim 
With  you  in  any  water. 


You  can  use  his  purse  with  no  more  talk 
Than  he  uses  yours  for  his  spendings, 
And  laugh  and  meet  in  your  daily  walk 
As  though  there  had  been  no  lendings. 
Nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  'em  call 
For  silver  and  gold  in  their  dealings; 
But  the  Thousandth  Man  he's  worth  'em  all, 
Because  you  can  show  him  your  feelings. 


His  wrong's  your  wrong,  and  his  right's  your  right, 

In  season  or  out  of  season. 

Stand  up  and  back  it  in  all  men's  sight — 

With  that  for  your  only  reason! 

Nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  can't  bide 

The  shame  or  mocking  or  laughter, 

But  the  Thousandth  Man  will  stand  by  your  side 

To  the  gallows- foot — and  after! 


THE  WINNERS 

is  the  moral?     Who  rides  may  read. 
When  the  night  is  thick  and  the  tracks  are  blind 
A  friend  at  a  pinch  is  a  friend  indeed, 
But  a  fool  to  wait  for  the  laggard  behind. 
Down  to  Gehenna  or  up  to  the  Throne, 
He  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone. 


596  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

White  hands  cling  to  the  tightened  rein, 
Slipping  the  spur  from  the  booted  heel, 
Tenderest  voices  cry  "Turn  again," 
Red  lips  tarnish  the  scabbarded  steel, 
High  hopes  faint  on  a  warm  hearth  stone — 
He  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone. 

One  may  fall  but  he  falls  by  himself— 
Falls  by  himself  with  himself  to  blame. 
One  may  attain  and  to  him  is  pelf — 
Loot  of  the  city  in  Gold  or  Fame. 
Plunder  of  earth  shall  be  all  his  own 
Who  travels  the  fastest  and  travels  alone. 

Wherefore  the  more  ye  be  holpen  and  stayed 
Stayed  by  a  friend  in  the  hour  of  toil, 
Sing  the  heretical  song  I  have  made — 
His  be  the  labour  and  yours  be  the  spoil. 
Win  by  his  aid  and  the  aid  disown — 
He  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone ! 


A  ST.  HELENA  LULLABY 

JJOW  far  is  St.  Helena  from  a  little  child  at  play?" 

What  makes  you  want  to  wander  there  with  all  the  world 

between  ? 

Oh,  Mother,  call  your  son  again  or  else  he'll  run  away. 
(No  one  thinks  of  winter  when  the  grass  is  green  /) 

"How  far  is  St.  Helena  from  a  fight  in  Paris  street?" 
I  haven't  time  to  answer  now — the  men  are  falling  fast. 
The  guns  begin  to  thunder,  and  the  drums  begin  to  beat= 
(IJ  you  take  the  first  step,  you  will  take  the  last  /) 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  597 

"How  far  is  St.  Helena  from  the  field  of  Austerlitz?" 
You  couldn't  hear  me  if  I  told — so  loud  the  cannons  roar. 
But  not  so  far  for  people  who  are  living  by  their  wits. 
("Gay  go  up"  means  "Gay  go  down"  the  wide  world  o'er  !) 

"How  far  is  St.  Helena  from  an  Emperor  of  France?" 
I  cannot  see — I  cannot  tell — the  crowns  they  dazzle  so. 
The  Kings  sit  down  to  dinner,  and  the  Queens  stand  up  to 

dance. 
(After  open  weather  you  may  look  for  snow  /) 

"How  far  is  St.  Helena  from  the  Capes  of  Trafalgar?" 
A  longish  way — a  longish  way — with  ten  year  more  to  run. 
It's  South  across  the  water  underneath  a  falling  star. 
(What  you  cannot  finish  you  must  leave  undone  /) 

"How  far  is  St.  Helena  from  the  Beresina  ice?" 
An  ill  way — a  chill  way — the  ice  begins  to  crack. 
But  not  so  far  for  gentlemen  who  never  took  advice. 
(IVhen  you  cant  go  forward  you  must  e'en  come  back  /) 

"How  far  is  St.  Helena  from  the  field  of  Waterloo?" 
A  near  way — a  clear  way — the  ship  will  take  you  soon. 
A  pleasant  place  for  gentlemen  with  little  left  to  do. 
(Morning  never  tries  you  till  the  afternoon  /) 

"How  far  from  St.  Helena  to  the  Gate  of  Heaven's  Grace?" 
That  no  one  knows — that  no  one  knows — and  no  one  ever  will. 
But  fold  your  hands  across  your  heart  and  cover  up  your  face, 
And  after  all  your  trapesings,  child,  lie  still! 


CHIL'S  SONG 

*"PHESE  were  my  companions  going  forth  by  night 
(For  Chil !    Look  you,  for  Chil  /) 

Now  come  I  to  whistle  them  the  ending  of  the  fight. 
(Chill     Vanguards  of  Chill} 


S9«  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Word  they  gave  me  overhead  of  quarry  newly  slain, 
Word  I  gave  them  underfoot  of  buck  upon  the  plain. 
Here's  an  end  of  every  trail — they  shall  not  speak  again! 

They  that  cried  the  hunting-cry — they  that  followed  fast — 

(For  Chil !    Look  youjor  Chil  /) 

They  that  bade  the  sambhur  wheel,  or  pinned  him  as  he 
passed — 

(Chil !     Vanguards  of  Chil  /) 

They  that  lagged  behind  the  scent — they  that  ran  before, 
They  that  shunned  the  level  horn — they  that  over-bore. 
Here's  an  end  of  every  trail — they  shall  not  follow  more. 

These  were  my  companions.     Pity  'twas  they  died! 

(For  Chil !    Look  you,  for  Chil  /) 
Now  come  I  to  comfort  them  that  knew  them  in  their  pride. 

(Chil !     Vanguards  of  Chil  /) 

Tattered  flank  and  sunken  eye,  open  mouth  and  red, 
Locked  and  lank  and  lone  they  lie,  the  dead  upon  their  dead. 
Here's  an  end  of  every  trail — and  here  my  hosts  are  fed ! 


THE  CAPTIVE 

with  an  outcry  to  Allah  nor  any  complaining 
He  answered  his  name  at  the  muster  and  stood  to  the 
chaining. 

When  the  twin  anklets  were  nipped  on   the  leg-bars  that 
held  them, 

He  brotherly  greeted  the  armourers  stooping  to  weld  them. 

Ere  the  sad  dust  of  the  marshalled  feet  of  the  chain-gang 
swallowed  him, 

Observing  him  nobly  at  ease,  I  alighted  and  followed  him. 

Thus  we  had  speech  by  the  way,  but  not  touching  his  sor- 
row— 

Rather  his  red  Yesterday  and  his  regal  To-morrow, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  599 

Wherein  he  statelily  moved  to  the  clink  of  his  chains  unre- 
garded, 

Nowise  abashed  but  contented  to  drink  of  the  potion  awarded. 

Saluting  aloofly  his  Fate,  he  made  haste  with  his  story, 

And  the  words  of  his  mouth  were  as  slaves  spreading  carpets 
of  glory 

Embroidered  with  names  of  the  Djinns — a  miraculous  weav- 
ing— 

But  the  cool  and  perspicuous  eye  overbore  unbelieving. 

So  I  submitted  myself  to  the  limits  of  rapture — 

Bound  by  this  man  we  had  bound,  amid  captives  his  cap- 
ture— 

Till  he  returned  me  to  earth  and  the  visions  departed. 

But  on  him  be  the  Peace  and  the  Blessing;  for  he  was  great- 
hearted ! 


THE  PUZZLER 

T^HE  Celt  in  all  his  variants  from  Builth  to  Bally-hoo, 
His  mental  processes  are  plain — one  knows  what  he  will 

do, 

And  can  logically  predicate  his  finish  by  his  start; 
But  the  English — ah,  the  English! — they  are  quite  a  race 

apart. 

Their  psychology  is  bovine,  their  outlook  crude  and  raw. 
They  abandon  vital  matters  to  be  tickled  with  a  straw, 
But  the  straw  that  they  were  tickled  with — the  chaff  that 

they  were  fed  with — 
They  convert  into  a  weaver's  beam  to  break  their  foeman's 

head  with. 

For  undemocratic  reasons  and  for  motives  not  of  State, 
They  arrive  at  their  conclusions — largely  inarticulate. 
Being  void  of  self-expression  they  confide  their  views  to  none; 
But  sometimes  in  a  smoking-room,  one  learns  why  things 
were  done. 


6oo  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Yes,  sometimes  in  a  smoking-room,  through  clouds  of  "Ers" 
and  "Urns," 

Obliquely  and  by  inference,  illumination  comes, 

On  some  step  that  they  have  taken,  or  some  action  they  ap- 
prove— 

Embellished  with  the  argot  of  the  Upper  Fourth  Remove. 

In  telegraphic  sentences,,  half  nodded  to  their  friends, 
They  hint  a  matter's  inwardness — and  there  the  matter  ends. 
And  while  the  Celt  is  talking  from  Valencia  to  Kirkwall, 
The  English — ah,  the  English! — don't  say  anything  at  all. 


THE  PRESS 

HPHE  Soldier  may  forget  his  Sword, 

The  Sailorman  the  Sea, 
The  Mason  may  forget  the  Word 

And  the  Priest  his  Litany: 
The  Maid  may  forget  both  jewel  and  gem, 

And  the  Bride  her  wedding-dress — 
But  the  Jew  shall  forget  Jerusalem 

Ere  we  forget  the  Press! 

•Vho  once  hath  stood  through  the  loaded  hour 

Ere,  roaring  like  the  gale, 
The  Harrild  and  the  Hoe  devour 

Their  league-long  paper-bale, 
And  has  lit  his  pipe  in  the  morning  calm 

That  follows  the  midnight  stress — 
He  hath  sold  his  heart  to  the  old  Black  Art 

We  call  the  daily  Press. 

Who  once  hath  dealt  in  the  widest  game 

That  all  of  a  man  can  play, 
No  later  love,  no  larger  fame 

Will  lure  him  long  away. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  601 

As  the  war-horse  smelleth  the  battle  afar, 

The  entered  Soul,  no  less, 
He  saith:  "Ha!  Ha!"  where  the  trumpets  are 

And  the  thunders  of  the  Press! 


Canst  thou  number  the  days  that  we  fulfil, 

Or  the  Times  that  we  bring  forth? 
Canst  thou  send  the  lightnings  to  do  thy  will, 

And  cause  them  reign  on  earth? 
Hast  thou  given  a  peacock  goodly  wings 

To  please  his  foolishness? 
Sit  down  at  the  heart  of  men  and  things, 

Companion  of  the  Press ! 


The  Pope  may  launch  his  Interdict, 

The  Union  its  decree, 
But  the  bubble  is  blown  and  the  bubble  is  pricked 

By  Us  and  such  as  We. 
Remember  the  battle  and  stand  aside 

While  Thrones  and  Powers  confess 
That  King  over  all  the  children  of  pride 

Is  the  Press — the  Press — the  Press! 


HADRAMAUTI 

knows  the  heart  of  the  Christian ?     How  does  he 

reason  ? 

What  are  his  measures  and  balances?     Which  is  his  season 
For  laughter,  forbearance  or  bloodshed,  and  what  devils  move 

him 
When  he  arises  to  smite  us?     /do  not  love  him. 


602  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

He  invites  the  derision  of  strangers — he  enters  all  places. 
Booted,  bareheaded  he  enters.     With  shouts  and  embraces 
He  asks  of  us  news  of  the  household  whom  we  reckon  name- 
less. 
Certainly  Allah  created  him  forty-fold  shameless ! 


So  it  is  not  in  the  Desert.    One  came  to  me  weeping — 
The  Avenger  of  Blood  on  his  track — I  took  him  in  keeping. 
Demanding  not  whom  he  had  slain,  I  refreshed  him,  I  fed  him 
As  he  were  even  a  brother.     But  Eblis  had  bred  him. 


He  was  the  son  of  an  ape,  ill  at  ease  in  his  clothing. 

He  talked  with  his  head,  hands  and  feet.     I  endured  him  with 

loathing. 

Whatever  his  spirit  conceived  his  countenance  showed  it 
As  a  frog  shows  in  a  mud-puddle.     Yet  I  abode  it! 


I  fingered  my  beard  and  was  dumb,  in  silence  confronting 

him. 
His  soul  was  too  shallow  for  silence,  e'en  with  Death  hunting 

him. 

I  said:  "Tis  his  weariness  speaks,"  but,  when  he  had  rested, 
He  chirped  in  my  face  like  some  sparrow,  and,  presently, 

jested! 


Wherefore  slew  I  that  stranger?     He  brought  me  dishonour. 
I  saddled  my  mare,  Bijli,  I  set  him  upon  her. 
I  gave  him  rice  and  goat's  flesh.     He  bared  me  to  laughter. 
When  he  was  gone  from  my  tent,  swift  I  followed  after, 
Taking  my  sword  in  my  hand.     The  hot  wine  had  filled  him. 
Under  the  stars  he  mocked  me — therefore  I  killed  him ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  60.1 

CHAPTER  HEADINGS 
THE  NAULAHKA 

MEET  in  an  evil  land 
That  is  near  to  the  gates  of  hell. 
I  wait  for  thy  command 
To  serve,  to  speed  or  withstand. 
And  thou  sayest,  I  do  not  well  ? 

Oh  Love,  the  flowers  so  red 
Are  only  tongues  of  flame, 
The  earth  is  full  of  the  dead, 
The  new-killed,  restless  dead. 
There  is  danger  beneath  and  o'erhead, 
And  I  guard  thy  gates  in  fear 
Of  words  thou  canst  not  hear, 
Of  peril  and  jeopardy, 
Of  signs  thou  canst  not  see—- 
And thou  sayest  'tis  ill  that  I  came? 


This  I  saw  when  the  rites  were  done, 
And  the  lamps  were  dead  and  the  Gods  alone, 
And  the  grey  snake  coiled  on  the  altar  stone — 
Ere  I  fled  from  a  Fear  that  I  could  not  see, 
And  the  Gods  of  the  East  made  mouths  at  me. 


Now  it  is  not  good  for  the  Christian's  health  to  hustle  the 

Aryan  brown, 
For  the  Christian  riles,  and  the  Aryan  smiles  and  he  weareth 

the  Christian  down; 
And  the  end  of  the  fight  is  a  tombstone  white  with  the  name 

of  the  late  deceased, 
And  the  epitaph  drear:  "A  Fool  lies  here  who  tried  to  hustle 

the  East." 


604  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Beat  off  in  our  last  fight  were  we? 

The  greater  need  to  seek  the  sea. 

For  Fortune  changeth  as  the  moon 

To  caravel  and  picaroon. 

Then  Eastward  Ho!  or  Westward  Ho! 

Whichever  wind  may  meetest  blow. 

Our  quarry  sails  on  either  sea, 

Fat  prey  for  such  bold  lads  as  we, 

And  every  sun-dried  buccaneer 

Must  hand  and  reef  and  watch  and  steer, 

And  bear  great  wrath  of  sea  and  sky 

Before  the  plate-ships  wallow  by. 

Now,  as  our  tall  bows  take  the  foam, 

Let  no  man  turn  his  heart  to  home, 

Save  to  desire  treasure  more, 

And  larger  warehouse  for  his  store, 

When  treasure  won  from  Santos  Bay 

Shall  make  our  sea-washed  village  gay. 


Because  I  sought  it  far  from  men, 
In  deserts  and  alone, 
I  found  it  burning  overhead, 
The  jewel  of  a  Throne. 

Because  I  sought — I  sought  it  so 
And  spent  my  days  to  find — 
It  blazed  one  moment  ere  it  left 
The  blacker  night  behind. 

When  a  lover  hies  abroad, 

Looking  for  his  love, 

Azrael  smiling  sheathes  his  sword, 

Heaven  smiles  above. 

Earth  and  sea 

His  servants  be, 

And  to  lesser  compass  round, 

That  his  love  be  sooner  found ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  605 

There  was  a  strife  'twixt  man  and  maid — 
Oh  that  was  at  the  birth  of  time! 
But  what  befell  'twixt  man  and  maid, 
Oh  that's  beyond  the  grip  of  rhyme. 
'Twas,  "Sweet,  I  must  not  bide  with  you," 
And  "Love,  I  cannot  bide  alone"; 
For  both  were  young  and  both  were  true, 
And  both  were  hard  as  the  nether  stone. 


There  is  pleasure  in  the  wet,  wet  clay, 

When  the  artist's  hand  is  potting  it; 

There  is  pleasure  in  the  wet,  wet  lay; 

When  the  poet's  pad  is  blotting  it; 

There  is  pleasure  in  the  shine  of  your  picture  on  the  line 

At  the  Royal  Acade-my; 

But  the  pleasure  felt  in  these  is  as  chalk  to  Cheddar  cheese 

W7hen  it  comes  to  a  well-made  Lie. — 

To  a  quite  unwreckable  Lie, 

To  a  most  impeccable  Lie! 

To  a  water-tight,  fire-proof,  angle-iron,  sunk-hinge,  time-lock, 

steel-faced  Lie! 
Not  a  private  hansom  Lie, 
But  a  pair-and-brougham  Lie, 
Not   a   little-place-at-Tooting,    but    a   country-house-with- 

shooting 
And  a  ring-fence-deer-park  Lie. 


We  be  the  Gods  of  the  East — 

Older  than  all- 
Masters  of  Mourning  and  Feast 

How  shall  we  fall? 


606  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Will  they  gape  for  the  husks  that  ye  proffer 

Or  yearn  to  your  song? 
And  we — have  we  nothing  to  offer 

Who  ruled  them  so  long — 

In  the  fume  of  the  incense,  the  clash  of  the  cymbals,  the  blare 
of  the  conch  and  the  gong  ? 

Over  the  strife  of  the  schools 

Low  the  day  burns — 
Back  with  the  kine  from  the  pools 

Each  one  returns 

To  the  life  that  he  knows  where  the  altar-flame  glows  and 
the  tulsi1  is  trimmed  in  the  urns. 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  FAILED 

CO  WE  settled  it  all  when  the  storm  was  done 

As  comfy  as  comfy  could  be; 
And  I  was  to  wait  in  the  barn,  my  dears, 
Because  I  was  only  three; 
And  Teddy  would  run  to  the  rainbow's  foot 
Because  he  was  five  and  a  man; 
And  that's  how  it  all  began,  my  dears, 
And  that's  how  it  all  began! 


"  If  I  have  taken  the  common  clay 

And  wrought  it  cunningly 
In  the  shape  of  a  God  that  was  digged  a  clod, 

The  greater  honour  to  me." 
"If  thou  hast  taken  the  common  clay, 

And  thy  hands  be  not  free 
From  the  taint  of  the  soil,  thou  hast  made  thy  spoil 

The  greater  shame  to  thee." 
The  Holv  Basil. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  607 

The  wolf-cub  at  even  lay  hid  in  the  corn, 

When  the  smoke  of  the  cooking  hung  grey: 

He  knew  where  the  doe  made  a  couch  for  her  fawn, 

And  he  looked  to  his  strength  for  his  prey. 

But  the  moon  swept  the  smoke-wreaths  away, 

And  he  turned  from  his  meal  in  the  villager's  close, 

And  he  bayed  to  the  moon  as  she  rose. 


The  lark  will  make  her  hymn  to  God, 
The  partridge  call  her  brood, 
While  I  forget  the  heath  I  trod, 
The  fields  wherein  I  stood. 

'Tis  dule  to  know  not  night  from  morn, 
But  greater  dule  to  know 
I  can  but  hear  the  hunter's  horn 
That  once  I  used  to  blow. 


There  were  three  friends  that  buried  the  fourth, 
The  mould  in  his  mouth  and  the  dust  in  his  eyes, 
And  they  went  south  and  east  and  north — 
The  strong  man  fights  but  the  sick  man  dies. 

There  were  three  friends  that  spoke  of  the  dead — 
The  strong  man  fights  but  the  sick  man  dies — 
"And  would  he  were  here  with  us  now,"  they  said, 
"The  sun  in  our  face  and  the  wind  in  our  eyes." 


Yet  at  the  last,  ere  our  spearmen  had  found  him, 
Yet  at  the  last,  ere  a  sword-thrust  could  save, 
Yet  at  the  last,  with  his  masters  around  him, 
He  spoke  of  the  Faith  as  a  master  to  slave. 
Yet  at  the  last,  though  the  Kafirs  had  maimed  him, 
Broken  by  bondage  and  wrecked  by  the  reiver, 
Yet  at  the  last,  tho'  the  darkness  had  claimed  him, 
He  called  upon  Allah,  and  died  a  Believer! 


608  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

GALLIO'S  SONG 

(And  Gallic  cared  for  none  of  these  things. — Acts  xviii,  17) 

A  LL  day  long  to  the  judgment-seat 

The  crazed  Provincials  drew — 
All  day  long  at  their  ruler's  feet 
Howled  for  the  blood  of  the  Jew. 
Insurrection  with  one  accord 
Banded  itself  and  woke; 
And  Paul  was  about  to  open  his  mouth 
When  Achaia's  Deputy  spoke — 

"Whether  the  God  descend  from  above 
Or  the  Man  ascend  upon  high, 
Whether  this  maker  of  tents  be  Jove 
Or  a  younger  deity — 
I  will  be  no  judge  between  your  gods 
And  your  godless  bickerings. 
Lictor,  drive  them  hence  with  rods 
I  care  for  none  of  these  things ! 

Were  it  a  question  of  lawful  due 

Or  Caesar's  rule  denied, 

Reason  would  I  should  bear  with  you 

And  order  it  well  to  be  tried; 

But  this  is  a  question  of  words  and  names. 

I  know  the  strife  it  brings. 

I  will  not  pass  upon  any  your  claims. 

I  care  for  none  of  these  things. 

One  thing  only  I  see  most  clear, 
As  I  pray  you  also  see. 
Claudius  Caesar  hath  set  me  here 
Rome's  Deputy  to  be. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  609. 

It  is  Her  peace  that  ye  go  to  break- 
Not  mine,  nor  any  king's. 

But,  touching  your  clamour  of  'Conscience  sake,' 
I  care  for  none  of  these  things. 

Whether  ye  rise  for  the  sake  of  a  creed, 
Or  riot  in  hope  of  spoil, 
Equally  will  I  punish  the  deed, 
Equally  check  the  broil; 
Nowise  permitting  injustice  at  all 
From  whatever  doctrine  it  springs — 
But — whether  ye  follow  Priapus  or  Paul, 
I  care  for  none  of  these  things!" 


THE  BEES  AND  THE  FLIES 

A   FARMER  of  the  Augustan  Age 
Perused  in  Virgil's  golden  page, 
The  story  of  the  secret  won 
From  Proteus  by  Cyrene's  son — 
How  the  dank  sea-god  showed  the  swain 
Means  to  restore  his  hives  again. 
More  briefly,  how  a  slaughtered  bull 
Breeds  honey  by  the  bellyful. 

The  egregious  rustic  put  to  death 

A  bull  by  stopping  of  its  breath, 

Disposed  the  carcass  in  a  shed 

With  fragrant  herbs  and  branches  spread, 

And,  having  well  performed  the  charm, 

Sat  down  to  wait  the  promised  swarm. 

Nor  waited  long.     The  God  of  Day 
Impartial,  quickening  with  his  ray 
Evil  and  good  alike,  beheld 
The  carcass — and  the  carcass  swelled. 


610  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Big  with  new  birth  the  belly  heaves 
Beneath  its  screen  of  scented  leaves. 
Past  any  doubt,  the  bull  conceives! 

The  farmer  bids  men  bring  more  hives 
To  house  the  profit  that  arrives; 
Prepares  on  pan,  and  key  and  kettle, 
Sweet  music  that  shall  make  'em  settle; 
But  when  to  crown  the  work  he  goes, 
Gods!  What  a  stink  salutes  his  nose! 


Where  are  the  honest  toilers?    Where 

The  gravid  mistress  of  their  care? 

A  busy  scene,  indeed,  he  sees, 

But  not  a  sign  or  sound  of  bees. 

Worms  of  the  riper  grave  unhid 

By  any  kindly  coffin-lid, 

Obscene  and  shameless  to  the  light, 

Seethe  in  insatiate  appetite, 

Through  putrid  offal,  while  above 

The  hissing  blow-fly  seeks  his  love, 

Whose  offspring,  supping  where  they  supt, 

Consume  corruption  twice  corrupt. 


ROAD-SONG  OF  THE  BANDAR-LOG 

J-JERE  we  go  in  a  flung  festoon, 

Half-way  up  to  the  jealous  moon! 

Don't  you  envy  our  pranceful  bands? 

Don't  you  wish  you  had  extra  hands? 

Wouldn't  you  like  if  your  tails  were — so — 

Curved  in  the  shape  of  a  Cupid's  bow? 
Now  you're  angry,  but — never  mind, 
Brother,  thy  tail  hangs  down  behind  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  611 

Here  we  sit  in  a  branchy  row, 

Thinking  of  beautiful  things  we  know; 

Dreaming  of  deeds  that  we  mean  to  do, 

All  complete,  in  a  minute  or  two — 

Something  noble  and  grand  and  good, 

Won  by  merely  wishing  we  could. 

Now  we're  going  to — never  mind, 
Brother,  thy  tail  hangs  down  behind  ! 


All  the  talk  we  ever  have  heard 
Uttered  by  bat  or  beast  or  bird — 
Hide  or  fin  or  scale  or  feather — 
Jabber  it  quickly  and  all  together! 
Excellent!     Wonderful!     Once  again! 
Now  we  are  talking  just  like  men. 

Let's  pretend  we  are  .  .  .  Nevermind! 

Brother,  thy  tail  hangs  down  behind  ! 

This  is  the  way  of  the  Monkey-kind! 

Then  join  our  leaping  lines  that  scumfish  through  the  pines. 
That  rocket  by  where,  light  and  high,  the  wild-grape  swings. 
By  the  rubbish  in  our  wake,  and  the  noble  noise  we  make, 
Be  sure — be  sure,  we're  going  to  do  some  splendid  things! 


THE  FABULISTS 

1914-18 

\\fHEN  all  the  world  would  keep  a  matter  hid, 

Since  Truth  is  seldom  friend  to  any  crov/d, 
Men  write  in  fable,  as  old  ^Esop  did, 

Jesting  at  that  which  none  will  name  aloud. 
And  this  they  needs  mi^st  do,  or  it  will  fall 
Unless  they  please  they  are  not  heard  at  all 


612  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


When  desperate  Folly  daily  laboureth 

To  \vork  confusion  upon  all  we  have, 
When  diligent  Sloth  demandeth  Freedom's  death, 

And  banded  Fear  commandeth  Honour's  grave — 
liven  in  that  certain  hour  before  the  fall 
Unless  men  please  they  are  not  heard  at  all. 

Needs  must  all  please,  yet  some  not  all  foirneed 
Needs  must  all  toil,  yet  some  not  all  for  gain, 

But  that  men  taking  pleasure  may  take  heed, 
Whom  present  toil  shall  snatch  from  later  pain. 

Thus  some  have  toiled  but  their  reward  was  small 

Since,  though  they  pleased,  they  were  not  heard  at  all. 

This  was  the  lock  that  lay  upon  our  lips, 
This  wars  the  yoke  that  we  have  undergone, 

Denying  us  all  pleasant  fellowships 
As  in  our  time  and  generation. 

Our  pleasures  unpursued  age  past  recall. 

And  for  our  pains — we  are  not  heard  at  all. 

What  man  hears  aught  except  the  groaning  guns? 

What  man  heeds  aught  save  what  each  instant  brings? 
When  each  man's  life  all  imaged  life  outruns, 

What  man  shall  pleasure  in  imaginings? 
So  it  hath  fallen,  as  it  was  bound  to  fall, 
We  are  not,  nor  we  were  not,  heard  at  all. 


"OUR  FATHERS  ALSO'* 

^pHRONES,  Powers,  Dominions,  Peoples,  Kings, 

Are  changing  'neath  our  hand. 
Our  fathers  also  see  these  things 
But  they  do  not  understand. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  613 

By — they  are  by  with  mirth  and  tears, 
Wit  or  the  works  of  Desire — 
Cushioned  about  on  the  kindly  years 
Between  the  wall  and  the  fire. 


The  grapes  are  pressed,  the  corn  is  shocked- 
Standeth  no  more  to  glean; 
For  the  Gates  of  Love  and  Learning  locked 
When  they  went  out  between. 

All  lore  our  Lady  Venus  bares, 
Signalled  it  was  or  told 
By  the  dear  lips  long  given  to  theirs 
And  longer  to  the  mould. 

All  Profit,  all  Device,  all  Truth 
Written  it  was  or  said 
By  the  mighty  men  of  their  mighty  youth, 
Which  is  mighty  being  dead. 

The  film  that  floats  before  their  eyes 
The  Temple's  Veil  they  call; 
And  the  dust  that  on  the  Shewbread  lies 
Is  holy  over  all. 

Warn  them  of  seas  that  slip  our  yoke 
Of  slow-c9nspiring  stars — 
The  ancient  Front  of  Things  unbroke 
But  heavy  with  new  wars? 

By — they  are  by  with  mirth  and  tears, 
Wit  or  the  waste  of  Desire — 
Cushioned  about  on  the  kindly  years 
Between  the  wall  and  the  fire! 


614  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

A  BRITISH-ROMAN  SONG 

(A.  D.  406) 

FATHER'S  father  saw  it  not, 
And  I,  belike,  shall  never  come, 
To  look  on  that  so-holy  spot — 
The  very  Rome — 

Crowned  by  all  Time,  all  Art,  all  Might 

The  equal  work  of  Gods  and  Man, 
City  beneath  whose  oldest  height — 
The  Race  began ! 

Soon  to  send  forth  again  a  brood, 

Unshakeable,  we  pray,  that  clings, 
To  Rome's  thrice-hammered  hardihood — 
In  arduous  things. 

Strong  heart  with  triple  armour  bound, 
Beat  strongly,  for  thy  life-blood  runs, 
Age  after  Age,  the  Empire  round— 
In  us  thy  Sons 

Who,  distant  from  the  Seven  Hills, 
Loving  and  serving  much,  require 
Thee — thee  to  guard  'gainst  home-born  ills, 
The  Imperial  Fire! 


A  PICT  SONG 

"D  OME  never  looks  where  she  treads. 

Always  her  heavy  hooves  fall, 
On  our  stomachs,  our  hearts  or  our  heads; 
And  Rome  never  heeds  when  we  bawl. 


INCLUSIVE  ERITION,   1885-1918  615 

Her  sentries  pass  on — that  is  all, 

And  we  gather  behind  them  in  hordes, 

And  plot  to  reconquer  the  Wall, 

With  only  our  tongues  for  our  swords. 


We  are  the  Little  Folk — we! 

Too  little  to  love  or  to  hate. 
Leave  us  alone  and  you'll  see 

How  we  can  drag  down  the  State! 
We  are  the  worm  in  the  wood! 

We  are  the  rot  at  the  root! 
We  are  the  taint  in  the  blood! 

We  are  the  thorn  in  the  foot! 


Mistletoe  killing  an  oak — 

Rats  gnawing  cables  in  two — 
Moths  making  holes  in  a  cloak — 

How  they  must  love  what  they  do! 
Yes — and  we  Little  Folk  too, 

We  are  busy  as  they — 
Working  our  works  out  of  view — 

Watch,  and  you'll  see  it  some  day! 


No  indeed!     We  are  not  strong, 

But  we  know  Peoples  that  are. 
Yes,  and  we'll  guide  them  along, 

To  smash  and  destroy  you  in  War! 
We  shall  be  slaves  just  the  same? 

Yes,  we  have  always  been  slaves, 
But  you — you  will  die  of  the  shame, 

And  then  we  shall  dance  on  your  graves! 

We  are  the  Little  Folk,  we,  etc. 


616  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 


THE  STRANGER 

*TPHE  Stranger  within  my  gate, 

He  may  be  true  or  kind, 
But  he  does  not  talk  my  talk — 

I  cannot  feel  his  mind. 
I  see  the  face  and  the  eyes  and  the  mouth, 

But  not  the  soul  behind. 

The  men  of  my  own  stock 

They  may  do  ill  or  well, 
But  they  tell  the  lies  I  am  wonted  to, 

They  are  used  to  the  lies  I  tell. 
And  we  do  not  need  interpreters 

When  we  go  to  buy  and  sell. 

The  Stranger  within  my  gates, 

He  may  be  evil  or  good, 
But  I  cannot  tell  what  powers  control — 

What  reasons  sway  his  mood; 
Nor  when  the  Gods  of  his  far-off  land 

Shall  repossess  his  blood. 

The  men  of  my  own  stock, 

Bitter  bad  they  may  be, 
But,  at  least,  they  hear  the  things  I  hear, 

And  see  the  things  I  see; 
And  whatever  I  think  of  them  and  their  likes 

They  think  of  the  likes  of  me. 

This  was  my  father's  belief 

And  this  is  also  mine: 
Let  the  corn  be  all  one  sheaf — 

And  the  grapes  be  all  one  vine, 
Ere  our  children's  teeth  are  set  on  edge 

By  bitter  bread  and  wine. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  617 

"RIMINI" 

(Marching  Song  of  a  Roman  Legion  of  the  Later  Empire) 


I  left  Rome  for  Lalage's  sake 
By  the  Legions'  Road  to  Rimini, 
She  vowed  her  heart  was  mine  to  take 
With  me  and  my  shield  to  Rimini  — 
(Till  the  Eagles  flew  from  Rimini  —  ) 
And  I've  tramped  Britain,  and  I've  tramped  Gaul, 
And  the  Pontic  shore  where  the  snow-flakes  fall 
As  white  as  the  neck  of  Lalage  — 
(As  cold  as  the  heart  of  Lalage  !) 
And  I've  lost  Britain,  and  I've  lost  Gaul, 
And  I've  lost  Rome  and,  worst  of  all, 
I've  lost  Lalage! 

When  you  go  by  the  Via  Aurelia, 

As  thousands  have  travelled  before, 

Remember  the  Luck  of  the  Soldier 

Who  never  saw  Rome  any  more! 

Oh  dear  was  the  sweetheart  that  kissed  him 

And  dear  was  the  mother  that  bore, 

But  his  shield  was  picked  up  in  the  heather. 

And  he  never  saw  Rome  any  more! 

And  he  left  Rome,  etc. 

When  you  go  by  the  Via  Aurelia 
That  runs  from  the  City  to  Gaul, 
Remember  the  Luck  of  the  Soldier 
Who  rose  to  be  master  of  all  ! 
He  carried  the  sword  and  the  buckler, 
He  mounted  his  guard  on  the  Wall, 
Till  the  Legions  elected  him  Caesar, 
And  he  rose  to  be  master  of  all! 

And  he  left  Rome,  etc. 


6i8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

It's  twenty-five  marches  to  Narbo, 

It's  forty-five  more  up  the  Rhone, 

And  the  end  may  be  death  in  the  heather 

Or  life  on  an  Emperor's  throne. 

But  whether  the  Eagles  obey  us, 

Or  we  go  to  the  Ravens — alone, 

I'd  sooner  be  Lalage's  lover 

Than  sit  on  an  Emperor's  throne! 

We've  all  left  Rome  for  Lalage's  sake,  etc. 


"POOR  HONEST  MEN" 

(A.  D.  1800) 

VOUR  jar  of  Virginny 

Will  cost  you  a  guinea 

Which  you  reckon  too  much  by  five  shillings  or  ten; 
But  light  your  churchwarden 
And  judge  it  according, 
When  I've  told  you  the  troubles  of  poor  honest  men. 

From  the  Capes  of  the  Delaware, 

As  you  are  well  aware, 

We  sail  with  tobacco  for  England — but  then, 

Our  own  British  cruisers, 

They  watch  us  come  through,  sirs, 

And  they  press  half  a  score  of  us  poor  honest  men ! 

Or  if  by  quick  sailing 

(Thick  weather  prevailing) 

We  leave  them  behind  (as  we  do  now  and  then) 

We  are  sure  of  a  gun  from 

Each  frigate  we  run  from, 

Which  is  often  destruction  to  poor  honest  men ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  619 

Broadsides  the  Atlantic 

We  tumble  short-handed, 

With  shot-holes  to  plug  and  new  canvas  to  bend, 

And  off  the  Azores, 

Dutch,  Dons  and  Monsieurs 

Are  waiting  to  terrify  poor  honest  men. 


Napoleon's  embargo 

Is  laid  on  all  cargo 

Which  comfort  or  aid  to  King  George  may  intend; 

And  since  roll,  twist  and  leaf, 

Of  all  comforts  is  chief, 

They  try  for  to  steal  it  from  poor  honest  men! 


With  no  heart  for  fight, 

We  take  refuge  in  flight 

But  fire  as  we  run,  our  retreat  to  defend; 

Until  our  stern-chasers 

Cut  up  her  fore-braces, 

And  she  flies  off  the  wind  from  us  poor  honest  men! 


'Twixt  the  Forties  and  Fifties, 

South-eastward  the  drift  is, 

And  so,  when  we  think  we  are  making  Land's  End, 

Alas,  it  is  Ushant 

With  half  the  King's  Navy, 

Blockading  French  ports  against  poor  honest  men! 


But  they  may  not  quit  station 

(Which  is  our  salvation) 

So  swiftly  we  stand  to  the  Nor'ard  again; 

And  finding  the  tail  of 

A  homeward-bound  convoy, 

We  slip  past  the  Scillies  like  poor  honest  men 


620  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Twix'  the  Lizard  and  Dover, 

We  hand  our  stuff  over, 

Though  I  may  not  inform  how  we  do  it,  nor  when. 

But  a  light  on  each  quarter 

Low  down  on  the  water 

Is  well  understanded  by  poor  honest  men. 

Even  then  we  have  dangers, 

From  meddlesome  strangers, 

Who  spy  on  our  business  and  are  not  content 

To  take  a  smooth  answer, 

Except  with  a  handspike     .     .     . 

And  they  say  they  are  murdered  by  poor  honest  men ! 

To  be  drowned  or  be  shot 

Is  our  natural  lot, 

W7hy  should  we,  moreover,  be  hanged  in  the  end — 

After  all  our  great  pains 

For  to  dangle  in  chains 

As  though  we  were  smugglers,  not  poor  honest  men  ? 


"WHEN  THE  GREAT  ARK" 

\\fHEN  the  Great  Ark,  in  Vigo  Bay, 

Rode  stately  through  the  half-manned  fleet, 
From  every  ship  about  her  way 

She  heard  the  mariners  entreat — 
"Before  we  take  the  seas  again 
Let  down  your  boats  and  send  us  men! 

"We  have  no  lack  of  victual  here 

With  work — God  knows! — enough  for  all, 

To  hand  and  reef  and  watch  and  steer, 
Because  our  present  strength  is  small. 

While  your  three  decks  are  crowded  so 

Your  crews  can  scarcely  stand  or  go. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  621 

"In  war,  your  numbers  do  but  raise 

Confusion  and  divided  will; 
In  storm,  the  mindless  deep  obeys 

Not  multitudes  but  single  skill. 
In  calm,  your  numbers,  closely  pressed, 
Must  breed  a  mutiny  or  pest. 

"We,  even  on  unchallenged  seas, 

Dare  not  adventure  where  we  would, 

But  forfeit  brave  advantages 

For  lack  of  men  to  make  'em  good; 

Whereby,  to  England's  double  cost, 

Honour  and  profit  both  are  lost!" 


PROPHETS  AT  HOME 

pROPHETS  have  honour  all  over  the  Earth, 
Except  in  the  village  where  they  were  born, 
Where  such  as  knew  them  boys  from  birth, 
Nature-ally  hold  'em  in  scorn. 

Wrhen  Prophets  are  naughty  and  young  and  vain, 
They  make  a  won'erful  grievance  of  it; 

(You  can  see  by  their  writings  how  they  complain), 
But  O,  'tis  won'erful  good  for  the  Prophet! 

There's  nothing  Nineveh  Town  can  give 
(Nor  being  swallowed  by  whales  between), 

Makes  up  for  the  place  where  a  man's  folk  live, 
Which  don't  care  nothing  what  he  has  been. 

He  might  ha'  been  that,  or  he  might  ha'  been  this, 

But  they  love  and  they  hate  him  for  what  he  is. 


622  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


JUBAL  AND  TUBAL  CAIN 

JUBAL  sang  of  the  Wrath  of  God 

And  the  curse  of  thistle  and  thorn — 
But  Tubal  got  him  a  pointed  rod, 
And  scrabbled  the  earth  for  corn. 
Old — old  as  that  early  mould, 

Young  as  the  sprouting  grain — 
Yearly  green  is  the  strife  between 
Jubal  and  Tubal  Cain! 

Jubal  sang  of  the  new-found  sea, 

And  the  love  that  its  waves  divide — 
But  Tubal  hollowed  a  fallen  tree 
And  passed  to  the  further  side. 
Black — black  as  the  hurricane-wrack, 

Salt  as  the  under-main —    . 
Bitter  and  cold  is  the  hate  they  hold — 
Jubal  and  Tubal  Cain ! 

Jubal  sang  of  the  golden  years 

When  wars  and  wounds  shall  cease — 
But  Tubal  fashioned  the  hand-flung  spears 
And  showed  his  neighbours  peace. 
New — new  as  the  Nine  point  Two, 

Older  than  Lamech's  slain — 
Roaring  and  loud  is  the  feud  avowed 
Twix'  Jubal  and  Tubal  Cain! 

Jubal  sang  of  the  cliffs  that  bar 

And  the  peaks  that  none  may  crown — 
But  Tubal  clambered  by  jut  and  scar 
And  there  he  builded  a  town. 
High — high  as  the  snowsheds  lie, 

Low  as  the  culverts  drain — 
Wherever  they  be  they  can  never  agree — 
Jubal  and  Tubal  Cain! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  623 

THE  VOORTREKKER 

"TTHE  gull  shall  whistle  in  his  wake,  the  blind  wave  break 

in  fire. 

He  shall  fulfil  God's  utmost  will,  unknowing  his  desire. 
And  he  shall  see  old  planets  change  and  alien  stars  arise, 
And  give  the  gale  his  seaworn  sail  in  shadow  of  new  skies, 
Strong  lust  of  gear  shall  drive  him  forth  and  hunger  arm  his 

hand, 
To  win  his  food  from  the  desert  rude,  his  pittance  from  the 

sand. 
His  neighbours'  smoke  shall  vex  his  eyes,  their  voices  break 

his  rest. 

He  shall  go  forth  till  south  is  north  sullen  and  dispossessed. 
He  shall  desire  loneliness  and  his  desire  shall  bring, 
Hard  on  his  heels,  a  thousand  wheels,  a  People  and  a  King. 
He  shall  come  back  on  his  own  track,  and  by  his  scarce-cooled 

camp 
There  shall  he  meet  the  roaring  street,  the  derrick  and  the 

stamp: 
There  he  shall  blaze  a  nation's  ways  with  hatchet  and  with 

brand, 
Till  on  his  last-won  wilderness  an  Empire's  outposts  stand! 


A  SCHOOL  SONG 

T  ET  us  now  praise  famous 

Men  of  little  showing — 
For  their  work  continueth. 
And  their  work  continueth, 
Broad  and  deep  continueth, 
Greater  than  their  knowing  ! 


624  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Western  wind  and  open  surge. 
Took  us  from  our  mothers, 

Flung  us  on  a  naked  shore 

(Twelve  bleak  houses  by  the  shore! 

Seven  summers  by  the  shore!) 
'Mid  two  hundred  brothers. 

There  we  met  with  famous  men 

Set  in  office  o'er  us; 
And  they  beat  on  us  with  rods — 
Faithfully  with  many  rods — 
Daily  beat  us  on  with  rods, 

For  the  love  they  bore  us! 

Out  of  Egypt  unto  Troy — 

Over  Himalaya — 

Far  and  sure  our  bands  have  gone — 
Hy-Brazil  or  Babylon, 
Islands  of  the  Southern  Run, 

And  Cities  of  Cathaia! 

And  we  all  praise  famous  men — 

Ancients  of  the  College; 
For  they  taught  us  common  sense — 
Tried  to  teach  us  common  sense — 
Truth  and  God's  Own  Common  Sens. 
Which  is  more  than  knowledge ! 

Each  degree  of  Latitude 

Strung  about  Creation 
Seeth  one  or  more  of  us 
(Of  one  muster  each  of  us), 
Diligent  in  that  he  does, 

Keen  in  his  vocation. 

This  we  learned  from  famous  men, 

Knowing  not  its  uses,  • 
When  they  showed,  in  daily  work, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  625 

Man  must  finish  off  his  work — 
Right  or  wrong,  his  daily  work — 
And  without  excuses. 

Servants  of  the  Staff  and  chain, 

Mine  and  fuse  and  grapnel — 
Some,  before  the  face  of  Kings, 
Stand  before  the  face  of  Kings; 
Bearing  gifts  to  divers  Kings — 

Gifts  of  case  and  shrapnel. 

This  we  learned  from  famous  men 

Teaching  in  our  borders, 
Who  declared  it  was  best, 
Safest,  easiest,  and  best — 
Expeditious,  wise,  and  best — 

To  obey  your  orders. 

Some  beneath  the  further  stars 

Bear  the  greater  burden: 
Set  to  serve  the  lands  they  rule, 
(Save  he  serve  no  man  may  rule), 
Serve  and  love  the  lands  they  rule; 

Seeking  praise  nor  guerdon. 

This  we  learned  from  famous  men, 

Knowing  not  we  learned  it. 
Only,  as  the  years  went  by — 
Lonely,  as  the  years  went  by — 
Far  from  help  as  years  went  by. 

Plainer  we  discerned  it. 

Wherefore  praise  we  famous  men 

From  whose  bays  we  borrow — 
They  that  put  aside  To-day — 
All  the  joys  of  their  To-day — 
And  with  toil  of  their  To-day 

Bought  for  us  To-morrow ! 


626  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Bless  and  praise  we  famous  men — 

Men  of  little  showing — 
For  their  work  continued, 
And  their  work  continueth. 
Broad  and  deep  continueth, 
Great  beyond  their  knowing  ! 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  JUNGLE 

this  is  the  Law  of  the  Jungle — as  old  and  as  true  as  the 
sky; 

And  the  Wolf  that  shall  keep  it  may  prosper,  but  the  Wolf  that 
shall  break  it  must  die. 

As  the  creeper  that  girdles  the  tree-trunk  the  Law  runneth  for- 
ward and  back — 

For  the  strength  of  the  Pack  is  the  Wolf,  and  the  strength  of  the 
Wolf  is  the  Pack. 

Wash  daily  from  nose-tip  to  tail-tip;  drink  deeply,  but  never 

too  deep; 
And  remember  the  night  is  for  hunting,  and  forget  not  the  day 

is  for  sleep. 

The  Jackal  may  follow  the  Tiger,  but,  Cub,  when  thy  whisk- 
ers are  grown, 

Remember  the  Wolf  is  a  hunter — go  forth  and  get  food  of 
thine  own. 

Keep  peace  with  the  Lords  of  the  Jungle — the  Tiger,  the 

Panther,  the  Bear; 
And  trouble  not  Hathi  the  Silent,  and  mock  not  the  Boar  in 

his  lair. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  627 

When  Pack  meets  with  Pack  in  the  Jungle,  and  neither  will 
•          go  from  the  trail, 

Lie  down  till  the  leaders  have  spoken — it  may  be  fair  words 
shall  prevail. 

When  ye  fight  with  a  Wolf  of  the  Pack,  ye  must  fight  him 
alone  and  afar, 

Lest  others  take  part  in  the  quarrel,  and  the  Pack  be  dimin- 
ished by  war. 

The  Lair  of  the  Wolf  is  his  refuge,  and  where  he  has  made  him 

his  home, 
Not  even  the  Head  Wolf  may  enter,  not  even  the  Council 

may  come. 

The  Lair  of  the  Wolf  is  his  refuge,  but  where  he  has  digged  it 

too  plain, 
The  Council  shall  send  him  a  message,  and  so  he  shall  change 

it  again. 

If  ye  kill  before  midnight,  be  silent,  and  wake  not  the  woods 

with  your  bay, 
Lest  ye  frighten  the  deer  from  the  crops,  and  the  brothers  go 

empty  away. 

Ye  may  kill  for  yourselves,  and  your  mates,  and  your  cubs 

as  they  need,  and  ye  can; 
But  kill  not  for  pleasure  of  killing,  and  seven  times  never  kill 

Man! 

If  ye  plunder  his  Kill  from  a  weaker,  devour  not  all  in  thy 

pride; 
Pack-Right  is  the  right  of  the  meanest;  so  leave  him  the  head 

and  the  hide. 

The  Kill  of  the  Pack  is  the  meat  of  the  Pack.     Ye  must  eat 

where  it  lies; 
And  no  one  may  carry  away  of  that  meat  to  his  lair,  or  he  dies. 


628  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  Kill  of  the  Wolf  is  the  meat  of  the  Wolf.     He  may  do 

what  he  will, 
But,  till  he  has  given  permission,  the  Pack  may  not  eat  of  that 

Kill. 

Cub-Right  is  the  right  of  the  Yearling.     From  all  of  his  Pack 

he  may  claim 
Full-gorge  when  the  killer  has  eaten;  and  none  may  refuse 

him  the  same. 

Lair-Right  is  the  right  of  the  Mother.     From  all  of  her  year 

she  may  claim 
One  haunch  of  each  kill  for  her  litter;  and  none  may  deny  her 

the  same. 

Cave-Right  is  the  right  of  the  Father — to  hunt  bv  himself 

for  his  own: 
He  is  freed  of  all  calls  to  the  Pack;  he  is  judged  by  the  Council 

alone. 

Because  of  his  age  and  his  cunning,  because  of  his  gripe  and 

his  paw, 
In  all  that  the  Law  leave th  open,  the  word  of  the  Head  Wolf 

is  Law. 

Now  these  are  the  Laws  of  the  Jungle,  and  many  and  mighty  are 

they; 
But  the  head  and  the  hoof  of  the  Law  and  the  haunch  and  the 

hump  is — Obey  ! 

"A  SERVANT  WHEN  HE  REIGNETH" 

(For  three  things  the  earth  is  disquieted,  and  for  four  which  it  cannot  bear. 
For  a  servant  when  he  reigneth  and  a  fool  when  he  is  filled  with  meat;  for  an 
odious  woman  when  she  is  married,  and  an  handmaid  that  is  heir  to  her  mis- 
tress.—Prov.  xxx.  21-22-23.) 

HPHREE  things  make  earth  unquiet 

And  four  she  cannot  brook 
The  godly  Agur  counted  them 
And  put  them  in  a  book — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  629 

Those  Four  Tremendous  Curses 
With  which  mankind  is  cursed 
But  a  Servant  when  he  Reigneth 
Old  Agur  entered  first. 

An  Handmaid  that  is  Mistress 

We  need  not  call  upon, 

A  Fool  when  he  is  full  of  Meat 

Wrill  fall  asleep  anon. 

An  Odious  Woman  Married 

May  bear  a  babe  and  mend, 

But  a  Servant  when  He  Reigneth 

Is  Confusion  to  the  end. 

His  feet  are  swift  to  tumult, 
His  hands  are  slow  to  toil, 
His  ears  are  deaf  to  reason, 
His  lips  are  loud  in  broil. 
He  knows  no  use  for  power 
Except  to  show  his  might. 
He  gives  no  heed  to  judgment 
Unless  it  prove  him  right. 

Because  he  served  a  master 

Before  his  Kingship  came, 

And  hid  in  all  disaster 

Behind  his  master's  name, 

So,  when  his  Folly  opens 

The  unnecessary  hells, 

A  Servant  when  He  Reigneth 

Throws  the  blame  on  some  one  else. 


His  vows  are  lightly  spoken, 
His  faith  is  hard  to  bind, 
His  trust  is  easy  broken, 
He  fears  his  fellow-kind. 


630  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  nearest  mob  will  move  him 
To  break  the  pledge  he  gave — 
Oh  a  Servant  when  He  Reigneth 
Is  more  than  ever  slave! 


MACDONOUGH'S   SONG 


the  State  can  loose  and  bind 
In  Heaven  as  well  as  on  Earth: 
If  it  be  wiser  to  kill  mankind 
Before  or  after  the  birth — 
These  are  matters  of  high  concern 

Where  State-kept  schoolmen  are; 
But  Holy  State  (we  have  lived  to  learn) 
Endeth  in  Holy  War. 

Whether  The  People  be  led  by  the  Lord, 

Or  lured  by  the  loudest  throat: 
If  it  be  quicker  to  die  by  the  sword 

Or  cheaper  to  die  by  vote — 
These  are  things  we  have  dealt  with  once, 

(And  they  will  not  rise  from  their  grave) 
For  Holy  People,  however  it  runs, 

Endeth  in  wholly  Slave. 

Whatsoever,  for  any  cause, 

Seeketh  to  take  or  give, 
Power  above  or  beyond  the  Laws, 

Suffer  it  not  to  live! 
Holy  State  or  Holy  King — 

Or  Holy  People's  Will- 
Have  no  truck  with  the  senseless  thing. 

Order  the  guns  and  kill! 
Saying — after — me: — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   188S-1918  631 


Once  there  was  The  People — Terror  gave  it  birth; 
Once  there  was  The  People  and  it  made  a  Hell  of  Earth. 
Earth  arose  and  crushed  it.     Listen,  0  ye  slain! 
Once  there  was  The  People — /'/  shall  never  be  again  ! 


"OUR  FATHERS  OF  OLD" 

JTXCELLENT  herbs  had  our  fathers  of  old- 
Excellent  herbs  to  ease  their  pain — 
Alexanders  and  Marigold, 

Eyebright,  Orris,  and  Elecampane. 
Basil,  Rocket,  Valerian,  Rue, 

(Almost  singing  themselves  they  run) 
Vervain,  Dittany,  Call-me-to-you — 
Cowslip,  Melilot,  Rose  cf  the  Sun. 
Anything  green  that  grew  out  of  the  mould 
Was  an  excellent  herb  to  our  fathers  of  old. 

Wonderful  tales  had  our  fathers  of  old 

Wonderful  tales  of  the  herbs  and  the  stars — 
The  Sun  was  Lord  of  the  Marigold, 

Basil  and  Rocket  belonged  to  Mars. 
Pat  as  a  sum  in  division  it  goes — 

(Every  herb  had  a  planet  bespoke) — 
Who  but  Venus  should  govern  the  Rose? 

Who  but  Jupiter  own  the  Oak? 

Simply  and  gravely  the  facts  are  told 

In  the  wonderful  books  of  our  fathers  of  old. 

Wonderful  little,  when  all  is  said, 
Wonderful  little  our  fathers  knew. 

Half  their  remedies  cured  you  dead — 

Most  of  their  teaching  was  quite  untrue — 


632  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Look  at  the  stars  when  a  patient  is  ill, 
(Dirt  has  nothing  to  do  with  disease,) 
Bleed  and  blister  as  much  as  you  will, 

Blister  and  bleed  him  as  oft  as  you  please." 
Whence  enormous  and  manifold 
Errors  were  made  by  our  fathers  of  old. 

Yet  when  the  sickness  was  sore  in  the  land, 

And  neither  planets  nor  herbs  assuaged, 
They  took  their  lives  in  their  lancet-hand 

And,  oh,  what  a  wonderful  war  they  waged! 
Yes,  when  the  crosses  were  chalked  on  the  door — 

(Yes,  when  the  terrible  dead-cart  rolled,) 
Excellent  courage  our  fathers  bore — 

Excellent  heart  had  our  fathers  of  old. 
None  too  learned,  but  nobly  bold 
Into  the  fight  went  our  fathers  of  old. 

If  it  be  certain,  as  Galen  says — 

And  sage  Hippocrates  holds  as  much — 
"That  those  afflicted  by  doubts  and  dismays 

Are  mightily  helped  by  a  dead  man's  touch," 
Then,  be  good  to  us,  stars  above! 

Then,  be  good  to  us,  herbs  below! 
We  are  afflicted  by  what  we  can  prove, 
We  are  distracted  by  what  we  know — 

So — ah, so! 

Down  from  your  heaven  or  up  from  your  mould, 
Send  us  the  hearts  of  our  fathers  of  old! 


THE  HERITAGE 

QUR  Fathers  in  a  wondrous  age, 
Ere  yet  the  Earth  was  small. 
Ensured  to  us  an  heritage, 
And  doubted  not  at  all 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  633 

That  we,  the  children  of  their  heart, 

Which  then  did  beat  so  high, 
In  later  time  should  play  like  part 

For  our  posterity. 

A  thousand  years  they  steadfast  built, 

To  'vantage  us  and  ours, 
The  Walls  that  were  a  world's  despair, 

The  sea-constraining  Towers: 
Yet  in  their  midmost  pride  they  knew, 

And  unto  Kings  made  known, 
Not  all  from  these  their  strength  they  drew, 

Their  faith  from  brass  or  stone. 

Youth's  passion,  manhood's  fierce  intent, 

With  age's  judgment  wise, 
They  spent,  and  counted  not  they  spent, 

At  daily  sacrifice. 
Not  lambs  alone  nor  purchased  doves 

Or  tithe  of  trader's  gold — 
Their  lives  most  dear,  their  dearer  loves, 

They  offered  up  of  old. 

Refraining  e'en  from  lawful  things, 

They  bowed  the  neck  to  bear 
The  unadorned  yoke  that  brings 

Stark  toil  and  sternest  care. 
Wherefore  through  them  is  Freedom  sure; 

W7herefore  through  them  we  stand, 
From  all  but  sloth  and  pride  secure, 

In  a  delightsome  land. 

Then,  fretful,  murmur  not  they  gave 

So  great  a  charge  to  keep, 
Nor  dream  that  awestruck  Time  shall  save 

Their  labour  while  we  sleep. 


634  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Dear-bought  and  clear,  a  thousand  year, 

Our  fathers'  title  runs. 
Make  we  likewise  their  sacrifice, 

Defrauding  not  our  sons. 


CHAPTER  HEADINGS 
BEAST  AND  MAN  IN  INDIA 

'jpHEY  killed  a  child  to  please  the  Gods 

In  earth's  young  penitence, 
And  I  have  bled  in  that  Babe's  stead 
Because  of  innocence. 

I  bear  the  sins  of  sinful  men 

That  have  no  sin  of  my  own, 

They  drive  me  forth  to  Heaven's  wrath 

Unpastured  and  alone. 

I  am  the  meat  of  sacrifice, 

The  ransom  of  man's  guilt, 

For  they  give  my  life  to  the  altar-knife 

Wherever  shrine  is  built. 

The  Goat. 

Between  the  waving  tufts  of  jungle-grass, 
Up  from  the  river  as  the  twilight  falls, 
Across  the  dust-beclouded  plain  they  pass 
On  to  the  village  walls. 

Great  is  the  sword  and  mighty  is  the  pen, 
But  over  all  the  labouring  ploughman's  blade- 
For  on  its  oxen  and  its  husbandmen 
An  Empire's  strength  is  laid. 

The  Oxen. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  635 

The  torn  boughs  trailing  o'er  the  tusks  aslant, 
The  saplings  reeling  in  the  path  he  trod, 
Declare  his  might — our  lord  the  Elephant, 
Chief  of  the  ways  of  God. 

The  black  bulk  heaving  where  the  oxen  pant, 
The  bowed  head  toiling  where  the  guns  careen, 
Declare  our  might — our  slave  the  Elephant 
And  servant  of  the  Queen. 

The  Elephant. 

Dark  children  of  the  mere  and  marsh, 
Wallow  and  waste  and  lea, 
Outcaste  they  wait  at  the  village  gate 
With  folk  of  low  degree. 

Their  pasture  is  in  no  man's  land, 
Their  food  the  cattle's  scorn, 
Their  rest  is  mire  and  their  desire 
The  thicket  and  the  thorn. 


But  woe  to  those  that  break  their  sleep, 
And  woe  to  those  that  dare 
To  rouse  the  herd-bull  from  his  keep, 
The  wild  boar  from  his  lair! 

Pigs  and  Buffaloes. 

The  beasts  are  very  wise, 
Their  mouths  are  clean  of  lies, 
They  talk  one  to  the  other, 
Bullock  to  bullock's  brother 
Resting  after  their  labours, 
Each  in  stall  with  his  neighbours. 
But  man  with  goad  and  whip, 
Breaks  up  their  fellowship, 


636  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Shouts  in  their  silky  ears 
Filling  their  soul  with  fears. 
When  he  has  ploughed  the  land, 
He  says:  "They  understand." 
But  the  beasts  in  stall  together, 
Freed  from  the  yoke  and  tether, 
Say  as  the  torn  flanks  smoke: 
"Nay,  'twas  the  whip  that  spoke." 


LIFE'S  HANDICAP 

*TPHE  doors  were  wide,  the  story  saith, 

Out  of  the  night  came  the  patient  wraith. 
He  might  not  speak,  and  he  could  not  stir 
A  hair  of  the  Baron's  minniver. 
Speechless  and  strengthless,  a  shadow  thin, 
He  roved  the  castle  to  find  his  kin. 
And  oh!  'twas  a  piteous  sight  to  see 
The  dumb  ghost  follow  his  enemy! 

The  Return  of  Imray. 


Before  my  Spring  I  garnered  Autumn's  gain, 
Out  of  her  time  my  field  was  white  with  grain, 
The  year  gave  up  her  secrets,  to  my  woe. 
Forced  and  deflowered  each  sick  season  lay 
In  mystery  of  increase  and  decay; 
I  saw  the  sunset  ere  men  see  the  day, 
Who  am  too  wise  in  all  I  should  not  know. 

Without  Benefit  of  Clergy. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  637 

KIM 

T  INTO  whose  use  the  pregnant  suns  are  poised, 
With  idiot  moons  and  stars  retracting  stars? 
Creep  thou  between — thy  coming's  all  unnoised. 
Heaven  hath  her  high,  as  Earth  her  baser,  wars. 
Heir  to  these  tumults,  this  affright,  that  fray 
(By  Adam's,  fathers',  own,  sin  bound  alway); 
Peer  up,  draw  out  thy  horoscope  and  say 
Which  planet  mends  thy  threadbare  fate,  or  mars. 


MANY  INVENTIONS 

HPHERE'S  a  convict  more  in  the  Central  Jail, 

Behind  the  old  mud  wall; 
There's  a  lifter  less  on  the  Border  trail, 
And  the  Queen's  Peace  over  all, 
Dear  boys, 
The  Queen's  Peace  over  all! 


For  we  must  bear  our  leader's  blame, 

On  us  the  shame  will  fall, 

If  we  lift  our  hand  from  a  fettered  land 

And  the  Queen's  Peace  over  all, 

Dear  boys, 

The  Queen's  Peace  over  all! 

The  Lost  Legion. 


638  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

'Less  you  want  your  toes  trod  off  you'd  better  get  back  at 

once, 

For  the  bullocks  are  walking  two  by  two, 
The  byles  are  walking  two  by  two, 
And  the  elephants  bring  the  guns. 
Ho!    Yuss! 

Great — big — long — black — forty-pounder  guns. 
Jiggery-jolty  to  and  fro, 
Each  as  big  as  a  launch  in  tow — 

Blind — dumb — broad-breeched — beggars  o'  battering-guns. 

My  Lord  the  Elephant. 


All  the  world  over,  nursing  their  scars, 
Sit  the  old  fighting-men  broke  in  the  wars — 
Sit  the  old  fighting  men,  surly  and  grim 
Mocking  the  lilt  of  the  conquerors'  hymn. 


Dust  of  the  battle  o'erwhelmed  them  and  hid, 
Fame  never  found  them  for  aught  that  they  did. 
Wounded  and  spent  to  the  lazar  they  drew, 
Lining  the  road  where  the  Legions  roll  through. 


Sons  of  the  Laurel  who  press  to  your  meed, 
(Worthy  God's  pity  most — ye  who  succeed!) 
Ere  you  go  triumphing,  crowned,  to  the  stars, 
Pity  poor  fighting  men,  broke  in  the  wars! 

Collected. 


PUT  forth  to  watch,  unschooled,  alone, 

'Twixt  hostile  earth  and  sky; 
The  mottled  lizard  'neath  the  stone 
Is  wiser  here  than  I. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  639 

What  stir  across  the  haze  of  heat? 

What  omen  down  the  wind? 
The  buck  that  break  before  my  feet— 

They  know,  but  I  am  blind! 

Collected. 


1914-18 

CfAREWELL  and  adieu  to  you,  Harwich  Ladies, 

Farewell  and  adieu  to  you,  ladies  ashore! 
For  we've  received  orders  to  work  to  the  eastward 
Where  we  hope  in  a  short  time  to  strafe  'em  some  more. 


We'll  duck  and  we'll  dive  like  little  tin  turtles, 
We'll  duck  and  we'll  dive  underneath  the  North  Seas, 
Until  we  strike  something  that  doesn't  expect  us, 
From  here  to  Cuxhaven  it's  go  as  you  please! 


The  first  thing  we  did  was  to  dock  in  a  minefield, 
Which  isn't  a  place  where  repairs  should  be  done; 
And  there  we  lay  doggo  in  twelve-fathom  water 
With  tri-nitro-toluol  hogging  our  run. 


The  next  thing  we  did,  we  rose  under  a  Zeppelin, 
With  his  shiny  big  belly  half  blocking  the  sky. 
But  what  in  the — Heavens  can  you  do  with  six-pounders? 
So  we  fired  what  we  had  and  we  bade  him  good-bye. 
Farewell  and  adieu,  &c. 

Fringes  of  the  Fleet. 


640  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


SONG  OF  THE  FIFTH  RIVER 

first  by  Eden  Tree, 
The  Four  Great  Rivers  ran, 
To  each  was  appointed  a  Man 
Her  Prince  and  Ruler  to  be. 

But  after  this  was  ordained, 
(The  ancient  legends  tell), 
There  came  dark  Israel, 
For  whom  no  River  remained. 


Then  He  Whom  the  Rivers  obey 

Said  to  him:  "Fling  on  the  ground 

A  handful  of  yellow  clay, 

And  a  Fifth  Great  River  shall  run, 

Mightier  than  these  Four, 

In  secret  the  Earth  around; 

And  Her  secret  evermore, 

Shall  be  shown  to  thee  and  thy  Race. 

So  it  was  said  and  done. 
And,  deep  in  the  veins  of  Earth, 
And,  fed  by  a  thousand  springs 
That  comfort  the  market-place, 
Or  sap  the  power  of  Kings, 
The  Fifth  Great  River  had  birth, 
Even  as  it  was  foretold  —    - 
The  Secret  River  of  Gold  ! 

And  Israel  laid  down 

His  sceptre  and  his  crown, 

To  brood  on  that  River  bank, 

Where  the  waters  flashed  and  sank, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  641 

And  burrowed  in  earth  and  fell, 
And  bided  a  season  below, 
For  reason  that  none  might  know, 
Save  only  Israel. 


He  is  Lord  of  the  Last — 

The  Fifth,  most  wonderful,  Flood. 

He  hears  Her  thunder  past 

And  Her  Song  is  in  his  blood. 

He  can  foresay:  "She  w;ll  fall," 

For  he  knows  which  fountain  dries 

Behind  which  desert-belt 

A  thousand  leagues  to  the  South. 


He  can  foresay:  "She  will  rise." 

He  knows  what  far  snows  melt: 

Along  what  mountain-wall 

A  thousand  leagues  to  the  North. 

He  snuffs  the  coming  drouth 

As  he  snuffs  the  coming  rain, 

He  knows  what  each  will  bring  forth, 

And  turns  it  to  his  gain. 


A  Ruler  without  a  Throne, 

A  Prince  without  a  Sword, 

Israel  follows  his  quest. 

In  every  land  a  guest, 

Of  many  lands  a  lord, 

In  no  land  King  is  he. 

But  the  Fifth  Great  River  keeps 

The  secret  of  Her  deeps 

For  Israel  alone, 

As  it  was  ordered  to  be. 


642  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


THE  CHILDREN'S   SONG 

T  AND  of  our  Birth,  we  pledge  to  thee 
Our  love  and  toil  in  the  years  to  be; 
When  we  are  grown  and  take  our  place, 
As  men  and  women  with  our  race. 

Father  in  Heaven  who  lovest  all. 
Oh  help  Thy  children  when  they  call; 
That  they  may  build  from  age  to  age, 
An  undefiled  heritage. 

Teach  us  to  bear  the  yoke  in  youth, 
With  steadfastness  and  careful  truth; 
That,  in  our  time,  Thy  Grace  may  give 
The  Truth  whereby  the  Nations  live. 

Teach  us  to  rule  ourselves  alway, 
Controlled  and  cleanly  night  and  day; 
That  we  may  bring,  if  need  arise, 
No  maimed  or  worthless  sacrifice. 

Teach  us  to  look  in  all  our  ends, 
On  Thee  for  judge,  and  not  our  friends; 
That  we,  with  Thee,  may  walk  uncowed 
By  fear  or  favour  of  the  crowd. 

Teach  us  the  Strength  that  cannot  seek, 
By  deed  or  thought,  to  hurt  the  weak; 
That,  under  Thee,  we  may  possess 
Man's  strength  to  comfort  man's  distress. 

Teach  us  Delight  in  simple  things, 
And  Mirth  that  has  no  bitter  springs; 
Forgiveness  free  of  evil  done, 
And  Love  to  all  men  'neath  the  sun! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  643 

Land  of  our  Birth,  our  faith,  our  pride, 

For  whose  dear  sake  our  fathers  died; 

Oh  Motherland,  we  pledge  to  thee, 

Head,  heart,  and  hand  through  the  years  to  be! 


PARADE-SONG  OF  THE  CAMP-ANIMALS 

ELEPHANTS  OF  THE  GUN-TEAMS 

A/I/'E  LENT  to  Alexander  the  strength  of  Hercules, 

The  wisdom  of  our  foreheads,  the  cunning  of  our  knees. 
We  bowed  our  necks  to  service — they  ne'er  were   loosed 

again,— 

Make  way  there,  way  for  the  ten-foot  teams 
Of  the  Forty- Pounder  train ! 

GUN-BULLOCKS 

Those  heroes  in  their  harnesses  avoid  a  cannon-ball, 
And  what  they  know  of  powder  upsets  them  one  and  all; 
Then  we  come  into  action  and  tug  the  guns  again, — 
Make  way  there,  way  for  the  twenty  yoke 
Of  the  Forty-Pounder  train ! 

CAVALRY  HORSES 

By  the  brand  on  my  withers,  the  finest  of  tunes 
Is  played  by  the  Lancers,  Hussars,  and  Dragoons, 
And  it's  sweeter  than  "Stables"  or  "Water"  to  me, 
The  Cavalry  Canter  of  "  Bonnie  Dundee ! " 

Then  feed  us  and  break  us  and  handle  and  groom, 
And  give  us  good  riders  and  plenty  of  room, 
And  launch  us  in  column  of  squadron  and  see 
The  Way  of  the  War-horse  to  "Bonnie  Dundee!" 


644  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


SCREW-GUN  MULES 

As  me  and  my  companions  were  scrambling  up  a  hill, 

The  path  was  lost  in  rolling  stones,  but  we  went  forward  still; 

For  we  can  wriggle  and  climb,  my  lads,  and  turn  up  every- 
where, 

And  it's  our  delight  on  a  mountain  height,  with  a  leg  or  two 
to  spare! 

Good  luck  to  every  sergeant,  then,  that  lets  us  pick  our  road ! 

Bad  luck  to  all  the  driver-men  that  cannot  pack  a  load! 

For  we  can  wriggle  and  climb,  my  lads,  and  turn  up  every- 
where, 

And  it's  our  delight  on  a  mountain  height,  with  a  leg  or  two 
to  spare ! 

COMMISSARIAT  CAMELS 

We  haven't  a  camelty  tune  of  our  own 

To  help  us  trollop  along, 

But  every  neck  is  a  hairAtrombone 

(Rtt-ta-ta-ta  !  is  a  hair^trombone!) 

And  this  is  our  marching-song: 

Cant!    Don't!     Shan  1 1     Wont! 

Pass  it  along  the  line! 

Somebody's  pack  has  slid  from  his  back, 

'Wish  it  were  only  mine! 

Somebody's  load  has  tipped  off  in  the  road — 

Cheer  for  a  halt  and  a  row! 

Urrr!     Yarrh !    Grr  !    Arrhl 

Somebody's  catching  it  now! 

ALL  THE  BEASTS  TOGETHER 

Children  of  the  Camp  are  we, 
Serving  each  in  his  degree; 
Children  of  the  yoke  and  goad, 
Pack  and  harness,  pad  and  load. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  645 

See  our  line  across  the  plain, 
Like  a  heel-rope  bent  again, 
Reaching,  writhing,  rolling  far, 
Sweeping  all  away  to  war! 
While  the  men  that  walk  beside, 
Dusty,  silent,  heavy-eyed, 
Cannot  tell  why  we  or  they 
March  and  suffer  day  by  day. 

Children  of  the  Camp  are  we, 

Serving  each  in  his  degree; 

Children  of  the  yoke  and  goad, 

Pack  and  harness,  pad  and  load. 


IF 


TF  YOU  can  keep  your  head  when  all  about  you 

Are  losing  theirs  and  blaming  it  on  you, 
If  you  can  trust  yourself  when  all  men  doubt  you, 

But  make  allowance  for  their  doubting  too; 
If  you  can  wait  and  not  be  tired  by  waiting, 

Or  being  lied  about,  don't  deal  in  lies, 
Or  being  hated  don't  give  way  to  hating, 

And  yet  don't  look  too  good,  nor  talk  too  wise: 


If  you  can  dream — and  not  make  dreams  your  master; 

If  you  can  think — and  not  make  thoughts  your  aim, 
If  you  can  meet  with  Triumph  and  Disaster 

And  treat  those  two  impostors  just  the  same; 
If  you  can  bear  to  hear  the  truth  you've  spoken 

Twisted  by  knaves  to  make  a  trap  for  fools, 
Or  watch  the  things  you  gave  your  life  to,  broken, 

And  stoop  and  build  'em  up  with  worn-out  tools: 


646  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

If  you  can  make  one  heap  of  all  your  winnings 

And  risk  it  on  one  turn  of  pitch-and-toss, 
And  lose,  and  start  again  at  your  beginnings 

And  never  breathe  a  word  about  your  loss; 
If  you  can  force  your  heart  and  nerve  and  sinew 

To  serve  your  turn  long  after  they  are  gone, 
And  so  hold  on  when  there  is  nothing  in  you 

Except  the  Will  which  says  to  them:  "Hold  on!" 

If  you  can  talk  with  crowds  and  keep  your  virtue, 

Or  walk  with  Kings — nor  lose  the  common  touch, 
If  neither  foes  nor  loving  friends  can  hurt  you, 

If  all  men  count  with  you,  but  none  too  much; 
If  you  can  fill  the  unforgiving  minute 

With  sixty  seconds'  worth  of  distance  run, 
Yours  is  the  Earth  and  everything  that's  in  it, 

And — which  is  more — vou'll  be  a  Man,  my  son! 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON 
(WESTERN  VERSION) 


H1 


'ERE  come  I  to  my  own  again, 

Fed,  forgiven  and  known  again, 
Claimed  by  bone  of  my  bone  again 
And  cheered  by  flesh  of  my  flesh. 
The  fatted  calf  is  dressed  for  me, 
But  the  husks  have  greater  zest  for  me 
I  think  my  pigs  will  be  best  for  me, 
So  I'm  off  to  the  Yards  afresh. 

I  never  was  very  refined,  you  see, 
(And  it  weighs  on  my  brother's  mind,  you  see) 
But  there's  no  reproach  among  swine,  d'you  see, 
For  being  a  bit  of  a  swine. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  647 

So  I'm  off  with  wallet  and  staff  to  eat 
The  bread  that  is  three  parts  chaff  to  wheat, 
But  glory  be! — there's  a  laugh  to  it, 
Which  isn't  the  case  when  we  dine. 


My  father  glooms  and  advises  me, 
My  brother  sulks  and  despises  me, 
And  Mother  catechises  me 
Till  I  want  to  go  out  and  swear. 
And,  in  spite  of  the  butler's  gravity, 
I  know  that  the  servants  have  it  I 
Am  a  monster  of  moral  depravity, 
And  I'm  damned  if  I  think  it's  fair! 

I  wasted  my  substance,  I  know  I  did, 

On  riotous  living,  so  I  did, 

But  there's  nothing  on  record  to  show  I  did 

More  than  my  betters  have  done. 

They  talk  of  the  money  I  spent  out  there — 

They  hint  at  the  pace  that  I  went  out  there — 

But  they  all  forget  I  was  sent  out  there 

Alone  as  a  rich  man's  son. 

So  I  was  a  mark  for  plunder  at  once, 

And  lost  my  cash  (can  you  wonder?)  at  once, 

But  I  didn't  give  up  and  knock  under  at  once, 

I  worked  in  the  Yards,  for  a  spell, 

Where  I  spent  my  nights  and  my  days  with  hogs, 

And  shared  their  milk  and  maize  with  hogs, 

Till,  I  guess,  I  have  learned  what  pays  with  hogs 

And — I  have  that  knowledge  to  sell! 

So  back  I  go  to  my  job  again, 
Not  so  easy  to  rob  again, 
Or  quite  so  ready  to  sob  again 
On  any  neck  that's  around. 


648  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I'm  leaving,  Pater.     Good-bye  to  you! 
God  bless  you,  Mater!     I'll  write  to  you. 
I  wouldn't  be  impolite  to  you, 
But,  Brother,  you  are  a  hound! 


THE  NECESSITARIAN 

T  KNOW  not  in  Whose  hands  are  laid 

To  empty  upon  earth 
From  unsuspected  ambuscade 
The  very  Urns  of  Mirth; 

Who  bids  the  Heavenly  Lark  arise 
'  And  cheer  our  solemn  round — 
The  Jest  beheld  with  streaming  eyes 
And  gro veilings  on  the  ground; 

Who  joins  the  flats  of  Time  and  Chance 

Behind  the  prey  preferred, 
And  thrones  on  Shrieking  Circumstance 

The  Sacredly  Absurd, 

Till  Laughter,  voiceless  through  excess, 
Waves  mute  appeal  and  sore, 

Above  the  midriff's  deep  distress, 
For  breath  to  laugh  once  more. 

No  creed  hath  dared  to  hail  Him  Lord, 
No  raptured  choirs  proclaim, 

And  Nature's  strenuous  Overword 
Hath  nowhere  breathed  His  Name. 

Yet,  it  must  be,  on  wayside  jape, 

The  selfsame  Power  bestows 
The  selfsame  power  as  went  to  shape 

His  Planet  or  His  Rose. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  649 

REBIRTH 

191  4-18 

TF  ANY  God  should  say 

I  will  restore 
The  world  her  yesterday 

Whole  as  before 

My  Judgment  blasted  it" — who  would  not  lift 
Heart,  eye,  and  hand  in  passion  o'er  the  gift? 


If  any  God  should  will 

To  wipe  from  mind 

The  memory  of  this  ill 

Which  is  mankind 

In  soul  and  substance  now — who  would  not  bless 
Even  to  tears  His  loving-tenderness? 


If  any  God  should  give 

Us  leave  to  fly 
These  present  deaths  we  live, 

And  safely  die 

In  those  lost  lives  we  lived  ere  we  were  born — 
What  man  but  would  not  laugh  the  excuse  to  scorn? 


For  we  are  what  we  are — 

So  broke  to  blood 
And  the  strict  works  of  war — 

So  long  subdued 

To  sacrifice,  that  threadbare  Death  commands 
Hardly  observance  at  our  busier  hands. 


650  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Yet  we  were  what  we  were, 

And,  fashioned  so, 
It  pleases  us  to  stare 

At  the  far  show 

Of  unbelievable  years  and  shapes  that  flit, 
In  our  own  likeness,  on  the  edge  of  it. 


THE  JESTER 

HPHERE  are  three  degrees  of  bliss 

At  the  foot  of  Allah's  Throne 
And  the  highest  place  is  his 
Who  saves  a  brother's  soul 
At  peril  of  his  own. 
There  is  the  Power  made  known! 


There  are  three  degrees  of  bliss 
In  the  Gardens  of  Paradise, 
And  the  second  place  is  his 
Who  saves  his  brother's  soul 
By  excellent  advice. 
For  there  the  Glory  lies! 


There  are  three  degrees  of  bliss 
And  three  abodes  of  the  Blest, 
And  the  lowest  place  is  his 
W7ho  has  saved  a  soul  by  a  jest 
And  a  brother's  soul  in  sport     . 
But  there  do  the  Angels  resort! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  651 

A  SONG  OF  TRAVEL 

\\7"HERE'S  the  lamp  that  Hero  lit 
Once  to  call  Leander  home? 
Equal  Time  hath  shovelled  it 

'Neath  the  wrack  of  Greece  and  Rome. 
Neither  wait  we  any  more 
That  worn  sail  which  Argo  bore. 

Dust  and  dust  of  ashes  close 

All  the  Vestal  Virgins'  care; 
And  the  oldest  altar  shows 

But  an  older  darkness  there. 
Age-encamped  Oblivion 
Tenteth  every  light  that  shone. 

Yet  shall  we,  for  Suns  that  die, 

Wall  our  wanderings  from  desire  ? 
Or,  because  the  Moon  is  high 

Scorn  to  use  a  nearer  fire? 
Lest  some  envious  Pharaoh  stir, 
Make  our  lives  our  sepulchre? 

Nay !     Though  Time  with  petty  Fate 

Prison  us  and  Emperors, 
By  our  Arts  do  we  create 

That  which  Time  himself  devours — 
Such  machines  as  well  may  run 
'Gainst  the  Horses  of  the  Sun. 

When  we  would  a  new  abode, 

Space,  our  tyrant  King  no  more, 
Lays  the  long  lance  of  the  road 

At  our  feet  and  flees  before, 
Breathless,  ere  we  overwhelm, 
To  submit  a  further  realm! 


652  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  TWO-SIDED  MAN 

TV/IUCH  I  owe  to  the  Lands  that  grew — 

More  to  the  Lives  that  fed — 
But  most  to  Allah  Who  gave  me  two 
Separate  sides  to  my  head. 

Much  I  reflect  on  the  Good  and  the  True 
In  the  Faiths  beneath  the  sun, 
But  most  upon  Allah  Who  gave  me  two 
Sides  to  my  head,  not  one. 

Wesley's  following,  Calvin's  flock, 
White  or  yellow  or  bronze, 
Shaman,  Ju-ju  or  Angekok, 
Minister,  Mukamuk,  Bonze — 

Here  is  a  health,  my  brothers,  to  you, 
However  your  prayers  are  said, 
And  praised  be  Allah  Who  gave  me  two 
Separate  sides  to  my  head! 

7  would  go  without  shirt  or  shoe, 
Friend,  tobacco  or  bread, 
Sooner  than  lose  for  a  minute  the  two 
Separate  sides  of  my  head! 


A  TRANSLATION 

(HORACE,  BK.  V.  Ode  3) 

*TPHERE  are  whose  study  is  of  smells, 

And  to  attentive  schools  rehearse 
How  something  mixed  with  something  else 
Makes  something  worse. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  653 

Some  cultivate  in  broths  impure 

The  clients  of  our  body — these, 
Increasing  without  Venus,  cure, 

Or  cause,  disease. 

Others  the  heated  wheel  extol, 

And  all  its  offspring,  whose  concern 
Is  how  to  make  it  farthest  roll 

And  fastest  turn. 

Me,  much  incurious  if  the  hour 

Present,  or  to  be  paid  for,  brings 
Me  to  Brundusium  by  the  power 

Of  wheels  or  wings; 

Me,  in  whose  breast  no  flame  hath  burned 

Life-long,  save  that  by  Pindar  lit, 
Such  lore  leaves  cold.     I  am  not  turned 

Aside  to  it 

More  than  when,  sunk  in  thought  profound 
Of  what  the  unaltering  Gods  require, 

My  steward  (friend  but  slave)  brings  round 
Logs  for  my  fire. 


"LUKANNON" 

(SONG  OF  THE  SEAL-ROOKERIES.  ALEUTIAN  ISLANDS) 

T  MET  my  mates  in  the  morning  (and  oh,  but  I  am  old!) 
Where  roaring  on  the  ledges  the  summer  ground-swell 

rolled. 
I  heard  them  lift  the  chorus  that  drowned  the  breakers' 

song — 
The  Beaches  of  Lukannon — two  million  voices  strong! 


6S4  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  song  of  pleasant  stations  beside  the  salt  lagoons, 
•  The  song  of  blowing  squadrons  that  shuffled  down  the  dunes, 
The  song  of  midnight  dances  that  churned  the  sea  to  flame — 
The  Beaches  of  Lukannon — before  the  sealers  came  ! 

I  met  my  mates  in  the  morning  (I'll  never  meet  them  more !) ; 
They  came  and  went  in  legions  that  darkened  all  the  shore. 
And  through  the  foam-flecked  offing  as  far  as  voice  could 

reach 
We  hailed  the  landing-parties  and  we  sang  them  up  the  beach. 

The  Beaches  of  Lukannon — the  winter-wheat  so  tall — 
The  dripping,  crinkled  lichens,  and  the  sea-fog  drenching  all ! 
The  platforms  of  our  playground,  all  shining  smooth  and  worn  ! 
The  Beaches  of  Lukannon — the  home  where  we  were  born  ! 

I  meet  my  mates  in  the  morning,  a  broken,  scattered  band. 
Men  shoot  us  in  the  water  and  club  us  on  the  land; 
Men  drive  us  to  the  Salt  House  like  silly  sheep  and  tame, 
And  still  we  sing  Lukannon — before  the  sealers  came. 

Wheel  down,  wheel  down  to  southward  !     Oh,  Gooverooska  go  ! 
And  tell  the  Deep-Sea  Viceroys  the  story  of  our  woe; 
Ere,  empty  as  the  shark's  egg  the  tempest  flings  ashore, 
The  Beaches  of  Lukannon  shall  know  their  sons  no  more  ! 


AN  ASTROLOGER'S   SONG 

*"pO  THE  Heavens  above  us 

O  look  and  behold 
The  Planets  that  love  us 

All  harnessed  in  gold! 
What  chariots,  what  horses 

Against  us  shall  bide 
While  the  Stars  in  their  courses 

Do  fight  on  our  side? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  655 

All  thought,  all  desires, 

That  are  under  the  sun, 
Are  one  with  their  fires, 

As  we  also  are  one. 
All  matter,  all  spirit, 

All  fashion,  all  frame, 
Receive  and  inherit 

Their  strength  from  the  same. 


Oh,  man  that  deniest 

All  power  save  thine  own 
Their  power  in  the  highest 

Is  mightily  shown. 
Not  less  in  the  lowest 

That  power  is  made  clear. 
(Oh,  man,  if  thou  knowest, 

What  treasure  is  here!) 

Earth  quakes  in  her  throes 

And  we  wonder  for  why. 
But  the  blind  planet  knows 

When  her  ruler  is  nigh; 
And,  attuned  since  Creation 

To  perfect  accord, 
She  thrills  in  her  station 

And  yearns  to  her  Lord. 

The  waters  have  risen, 

The  springs  are  unbound — 
The  floods  break  their  prison, 

And  ravin  around. 
No  rampart  withstands  'em, 

Their  fury  will  last, 
Till  the  Sign  that  commands  'em 

Sinks  low  or  swings  past. 


6S6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Through  abysses  unproven, 

O'er  gulfs  beyond  thought, 
Our  portion  is  woven, 

Our  burden  is  brought. 
Yet  They  that  prepare  it, 

Whose  Nature  we  share, 
Make  us  who  must  bear  it 

Well  able  to  bear. 

Though  terrors  o'ertake  us 

We'll  not  be  afraid. 
No  Power  can  unmake  us 

Save  that  which  has  made: 
Nor  yet  beyond  reason 

Or  hope  shall  we  fall — 
All  things  have  their  season, 

And  Mercy  crowns  all! 

Then,  doubt  not,  ye  fearful — 

The  Eternal  is  King — 
Up,  heart,  and  be  cheerful, 

And  lustily  sing: — 
What  chariots  >  what  horses* 

Against  us  shall  bide 
While  the  Stars  in  their  courses 

Do  fight  on  our  side  ? 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  DOG'* 


*TpHERE  is  sorrow  enough  in  the  natural  way 

From  men  and  women  to  fill  our  day; 
And  when  we  are  certain  of  sorrow  in  store, 
Why  do  we  always  arrange  for  more? 
Brothers  and  Sisters,  I  bid  you  beware 
Of  giving  your  heart  to  a  dog  to  tear. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  657 

Buy  a  pup  and  your  money  will  buy 

Love  unflinching  that  cannot  lie — 

Perfect  passion  and  worship  fed 

By  a  kick  in  the  ribs  or  a  pat  on  the  head. 

Nevertheless  it  is  hardly  fair 

To  risk  your  heart  for  a  dog  to  tear. 


When  the  fourteen  years  which  Nature  permits 

Are  closing  in  asthma,  or  tumour,  or  fits, 

And  the  vet's  unspoken  p-escription  runs 

To  lethal  chambers  or  loaded  guns, 

Then  you  will  find — it's  your  own  affair — 

But    .     .     .    you've  given  your  heart  to  a  dog  to  tear. 


When  the  body  that  lived  at  your  single  will, 
With  its  whimper  of  welcome,  is  stilled  (how  still!). 
When  the  spirit  that  answered  your  every  mood 
Is  gone — wherever  it  goes — for  good, 
You  will  discover  how  much  you  carey 
And  will  give  your  heart  to  a  dog  to  tear. 


We've  sorrow  enough  in  the  natural  way, 

When  it  comes  to  burying  Christian  clay. 

Our  loves  are  not  given,  but  only  lent, 

At  compound  interest  of  cent  per  cent. 

Though  it  is  not  always  the  case,  I  believe, 

That  the  longer  we've  kept  'em,  the  more  do  we  grieve: 

For,  when  debts  are  payable,  right  or  wrong, 

A  short-time  loan  is  as  bad  as  a  long — 

So  why  in — Heaven  (before  we  are  there} 

Should  we  give  our  hearts  to  a  dog  to  tear  ? 


658  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE   RABBI'S    SONG 

(II  Samuel  xiv,  14.) 

TF  THOUGHT  can  reach  to  Heaven, 

On  Heaven  let  it  dwell, 
For  fear  thy  Thought  be  given 

Like  power  to  reach  to  Hell. 
For  fear  the  desolation 

And  darkness  of  thy  mind 
Perplex  an  habitation 

Which  thou  hast  left  behind. 

Let  nothing  linger  after — 

No  whimpering  ghost  remain, 
In  wall,  or  beam,  or  rafter, 

Of  any  hate  or  pain. 
Cleanse  and  call  home  thy  spirit, 

Deny  her  leave  to  cast, 
On  aught  thy  heirs  inherit, 

The  shadow  of  her  past. 

For  think,  in  all  thy  sadness, 

What  road  our  griefs  may  take; 
Whose  brain  reflect  our  madness, 

Or  whom  our  terrors  shake : 
For  think,  lest  any  languish 

By  cause  of  thy  distress — 
The  arrows  of  our  anguish 

Fly  farther  than  we  guess. 

Our  lives,  our  tears,  as  water, 

Are  spilled  upon  the  ground; 
God  giveth  no  man  quarter, 

Yet  God  a  means  hath  found, 
Though  faith  and  hope  have  vanished, 

And  even  love  grows  dim — 
A  means  whereby  His  banished 

Be  not  expelled  from  Him ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  659 


THE  BEE  BOY'S  SONG 

J^EES  !  '  Bees  !    Hark  to  your  bees  I 

"  Hide  from  your  neighbours  as  much  as  you  please, 
But  all  that  has  happened,  to  us  you  must  tell, 
Or  else  we  will  give  you  no  honey  to  sell !  " 


A  maiden  in  her  glory, 

Upon  her  wedding-day, 
Must  tell  her  Bees  the  story, 
Or  else  they'll  fly  away. 
Fly  away — die  away — 

Dwindle  down  and  leave  you! 
But  if  you  don't  deceive  your  Bees, 
Your  Bees  will  not  deceive  you. 


Marriage,  birth  or  buryin', 

News  across  the  seas, 
All  you're  sad  or  merry  in, 
You  must  tell  the  Bees. 

Tell  'em  coming  in  an'  out, 
Where  the  Fanners  fan, 
'Cause  the  Bees  are  just  about 
As  curious  as  a  man ! 


Don't  you  wait  where  trees  are, 

When  the  lightnings  play, 
Nor  don't  you  hate  where  Bees  are, 
Or  else  they'll  pine  away. 

Pine  away — dwine  away — 
Anything  to  leave  you ! 
But  if  you  never  grieve  your  Bees, 
Your  Bees  '11  never  grieve  you. 


660  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  SONG  OF  SEVEN  CITIES 

T  WAS  Lord  of  Cities  very  sumptuously  builded. 

Seven  roaring  Cities  paid  me  tribute  from  afar. 
Ivory  their  outposts  were — the  guardrooms  of  them  gilded. 
And  garrisoned  with  Amazons  invincible  in  war. 

All  the  world  went  softly  when  it  walked  before  my  Cities — 
Neither  King  nor  Army  vexed  my  peoples  at  their  toiL 
Never  horse  nor  chariot  irked  or  overbore  my  Cities, 
Never  Mob  nor  Ruler  questioned  whence  they  drew  their 
spoil. 

Banded,  mailed  and  arrogant  from  sunrise  unto  sunset, 
Singing  while  they  sacked  it,  they  possessed  the  land  at  large. 
Yet  when  men  would  rob  them,  they  resisted,   they  made 

onset 
And  pierced  the  smoke  of  battle  with  a  thousand-sabred 

charge. 


So  they  warred  and  trafficked  only  yesterday,  my  Cities. 
To-day  there  is  no  mark  or  mound  of  where  my  Cities  stood. 
For  the  River  rose  at  midnight  and  it  washed  away  my  Cities. 
They  are  evened  with  Atlantis   and  the  towns  before  the 
Flood. 


Rain  on  rain-gorged  channels  raised  the  water-levels  round 

them, 
Freshet  backed  on  freshet  swelled  and  swept  their  world 

from  sight, 
Till  the  emboldened  floods  linked  arms  and,  flashing  forward, 

drowned  them — 
Drowned  my  Seven  Cities  and  their  peoples  in  one  night! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  661 

Low  among  the  alders  lie  their  derelict  foundations, 

The  beams  wherein  they  trusted  and  the  plinths  whereon  they 

built — 

My  rulers  and  their  treasure  and  their  unborn  populations, 
Dead,  destroyed,  aborted,  and  defiled  with  mud  and  silt! 

The  Daughters  of  the  Palace  whom  they  cherished  in  my 

Cities, 

My  silver-tongued  Princesses,  and  the  promise  of  their  May — 
Their  bridegrooms  of  the  June-tide — all  have  perished  in  my 

Cities, 
With  the  harsh  envenomed  virgins  that  can  neither  love  nor 

play. 

I  was  Lord  of  Cities — I  will  build  anew  my  Cities, 
Seven,  set  on  rocks,  above  the  wrath  of  any  flood. 
Nor  will  I  rest  from  search  till  I  have  filled  anew  my  Cities 
With  peoples  undefeated  of  the  dark,  enduring  blood. 

To  the  sound  of  trumpets  shall  their  seed  restore  my  Cities 
Wealthy  and  well-weaponed,  that  once  more  may  I  behold 
All  the  world  go  softly  when  it  walks  before  my  Cities, 
And  the  horses  and  the  chariots  fleeing  from  them  as  of  old ! 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  CHILDREN 


the  harps  nor  the  crowns  amused,  nor  the 

cherubs'  dove-winged  races  — 
Holding  hands  forlornly  the  Children  wandered  beneath  the 

Dome, 
Plucking  the  splendid  robes  of  the  passers  by,  and  with  pitiful 

faces 
Begging  what  Princes  and  Powers  refused:  —  "Ah,  please 

will  you  let  us  go  home?" 


662  RUDYARD   KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Over  the  jewelled  floor,  nigh  weeping,  ran  to  them  Mary  the 

Mother, 
Kneeled  and  caressed  and  made  promise  with  kisses,  and 

drew  them  along  to  the  gateway — 
Yea,  the  all-iron  unbribeable  Door  which  Peter  must  guard 

and  none  other. 
Straightway  She  took  the  Keys  from  his  keeping,  and  opened 

and  freed  them  straightway. 

Then,  to  Her  Son,  Who  had  seen  and  smiled,  She  said:  "On 

the  night  that  I  bore  Thee, 
What  didst  Thou  care  for  a  love  beyond  mine  or  a  heaven 

that  was  not  my  arm  ? 
Didst  Thou  push  from  the  nipple,  O  Child,  to  hear  the  angels 

adore  Thee  ? 
When  we  two  lay  in  the  breath  of  the  kine  ? "     And  He  said : — 

"Thou  hast  done  no  harm." 

So  through  the  Void  the  Children  ran  homeward  merrily 
hand  in  hand, 

Looking  neither  to  left  nor  right  where  the  breathless  Heav- 
ens stood  still. 

And  the  Guards  of  the  Void  resheathed  their  swords,  for  they 
heard  the  Command: 

"Shall  I  that  have  suffered  the  Children  to  come  to  Me  hold 
them  against  their  will  ? " 


MERROW  DOWN 

I 

SPHERE  runs  a  road  by  Merrow  Down- 

A  grassy  track  to-day  it  is — 
An  hour  out  of  Guildford  town, 
Above  the  river  Wey  it  is. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  663 

Here,  when  they  heard  the  horse-bells  ring, 
The  ancient  Britons  dressed  and  rode 

To  watch  the  dark  Phoenicians  bring 
Their  goods  along  the  Western  Road. 

Yes,  here,  or  hereabouts,  they  met 
To  hold  their  racial  talks  and  such — 

To  barter  beads  for  Whitby  jet, 

And  tin  for  gay  shell  torques  and  such. 

But  long  and  long  before  that  time 

(When  bison  used  to  roam  on  it) 
Did  Taffy  and  her  Daddy  climb 

That  Down,  and  had  their  home  on  it. 

Then  beavers  built  in  Broadstonebrook 

And  made  a  swamp  where  Bramley  stands; 

And  bears  from  Shere  would  come  and  look 
For  Taffimai  where  Shamley  stands. 

The  Wey,  that  Taffy  called  Wagai, 
Was  more  than  six  times  bigger  then; 

And  all  the  Tribe  of  Tegumai 
They  cut  a  noble  figure  then! 


II 


Of  all  the  Tribe  of  Tegumai 

Who  cut  that  figure,  none  remain, — 
On  Merrow  Down  the  cuckoos  cry — 

The  silence  and  the  sun  remain. 

But  as  the  faithful  years  return 
And  hearts  unwounded  sing  again, 

Comes  Taffy  dancing  through  the  fern 
To  lead  the  Surrey  spring  again. 


664  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Her  brows  are  bound  with  bracken-fronds, 
And  golden  elf-locks  fly  above; 

Her  eyes  are  bright  as  diamonds 
And  bluer  than  the  sky  above. 

In  mocassins  and  deer-skin  cloak, 
Unfearing,  free  and  fair  she  flits, 

And  lights  her  little  damp-wood  smoke 
To  show  her  Daddy  where  she  flits. 

For  far — oh,  very  far  behind, 
So  far  she  cannot  call  to  him, 

Comes  Tegumai  alone  to  find 
The  daughter  that  was  all  to  him! 


OLD  MOTHER  LAIDINWOOL 

)  Mother  Laidinwool  had  nigh  twelve  months  been 

dead. 
She  heard  the  hops  was  doing  well,  an'  so  popped  up  her 

head," 
For  said  she:    "The  lads  I've  picked  with  when  I  was  young 

and  fair, 
They're  bound  to  be  at  hopping  and  I'm  bound  to  meet  'em 

there!" 


Let  me  up  and  go 

Back  to  the  work  I  know,  Lord  I 

Back  to  the  work  I  know.  Lord  ! 

For  it's  dark  where  I  lie  down,  My  Lord  ! 

An   it's  dark  where  I  lie  down  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  665 

Old  Mother  Laidinwool,  she  give  her  bones  a  shake, 

An'  trotted  down  the  churchyard-path  as  fast  as  she  could 

make. 

She  met  the  Parson  walking,  but  she  says  to  him,  says  she: — 
"Oh  don't  let  no  one  trouble  for  a  poor  old  ghost  like  me!" 

Twas  all  a  warm  September  an'  the  hops  had  flourished 

grand, 

She  saw  the  folks  get  into  'em  with  stockin's  en  their  hands; 
An'  none  of  'em  was  foreigners  but  all  which  she  had  known, 
And  old  Mother  Laidinwool  she  blessed  'em  every  one. 

She  saw  her  daughters  picking  an'  their  childern  them-beside, 
An'  she  moved  among  the  babies  an'  she  stilled  'em  when 

they  cried. 
She  saw  their  clothes  was  bought,  not  begged,  an'  they  was 

clean  an'  fat, 
An'  Old  Mother  Laidinwool  she  thanked  the  Lord  for  that. 

Old  Mother  Laidinwool  she  waited  on  all  day 
Until  it  come  too  dark  to  see  an'  people  went  away — 
Until  it  come  too  dark  to  see  an'  lights  began  to  show, 
An'  old  Mother  Laidinwool  she  hadn't  where  to  go. 

Old  Mother  Laidinwool  she  give  her  bones  a  shake, 

An'  trotted  back  to  churchyard-mould  as  fast  as  she  could 

make. 
She  went  where  she  was  bidden  to  an'  there  laid  down  her 

ghost,     .     .     . 
An'  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  you  in  the  Day  you  need  it  most! 

Let  me  in  again, 

Out  of  the  wet  an  rain.  Lord  ! 

Out  of  the  wet  an'  rain,  Lord  I 

For  it's  best  as  You  shall  say,  My  Lord  ! 

An'  it's  best  as  You  shall  say  ! 


666  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE    LAND 

\yHEN  Julius  Fabricius,  Sub-Prefect  of  the  Weald, 

In  the  days  of  Diocletian  owned  our  Lower  River-field, 
He  called  to  him  Hobdenius — a  Briton  of  the  Clay, 
Saying:  "What  about  that  River-piece  for  layin'  in  to  hay?" 

And  the  aged  Hobden  answered:  "I  remember  as  a  lad 
My  father  told  your  father  that  she  wanted  dreenin'  bad. 
An'  the  more  that  you  neeglect  her  the  less  you'll  get  her 

clean. 
Have  it  jest  as  you've  a  mind  to,  but,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  dreen." 

So  they  drained  it  long  and  crossways  in  the  lavish  Roman 

style — 

Still  we  find  among  the  river-drift  their  flakes  of  ancient  tile, 
And  in  drouthy  middle  August,  when  the  bones  of  meadows 

show, 
We  can  trace  the  lines  they  followed  sixteen  hundred  years 

ago. 

Then  Julius  Fabricius  died  as  even  Prefects  do, 
And  after  certain  centuries,  Imperial  Rome  died  too. 
Then  did  robbers  enter  Britain  from  across  the  Northern 

main 
And  our  Lower  River-field  was  won  by  Ogier  the  Dane. 

Well  could  Ogier  work  his  war-boat — well  could  Ogier  wield 

his  brand — 
Much  he  knew  of  foaming  waters — not  so  much  of  farming 

land. 

So  he  called  to  him  a  Hobden  of  the  old  unaltered  blood, 
Saying:  "Wrhat  about  that  River-piece,  she  doesn't  look  no 

good?" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  667 

And  that  aged  Hobden  answered:  "  'Tain't  for  me  to  interfere, 
But  I've  known  that  bit  o'  meadow  now  for  five  and  fifty  year. 
Have  \tjest  as  you've  a  mind  to,  but  I've  proved  it  time  on 

time, 
If  you  want  to  change  her  nature  you  have  got  to  give  her 

lime!" 


Ogier  sent  his  wains  to  Lewes,  twenty  hours'  solemn  walk, 
And  drew  back  great  abundance  of  the  cool,  grey,  healing 

chalk. 
And  old  Hobden  spread  it  broadcast,  never  heeding  what  was 

in  't. 
Which  is  why  in  cleaning  ditches,  now  and  then  we  find  a  flint. 

Ogier  died.     His  sons  grew  English — Anglo-Saxon  was  their 

name- 
Till  out  of  blossomed  Normandy  another  pirate  came; 
For  Duke  William  conquered  England  and  divided  with  his 

men, 
And  our  Lower  River-field  he  gave  to  William  of  Warenne. 

But  the  Brook  (you  know  her  habit)  rose  one  rainy  autumn 

night 

And  tore  down  sodden  flitches  of  the  bank  to  left  and  right. 
So,  said  William  to  his  Bailiff  as  they  rode  their  dripping 

rounds: 
"Hob,  what  about  that  River-bit — the  Brook's  got  up  no 

bounds?" 

And  that  aged  Hobden  answered:  "'Tain't  my  business  to 

advise, 
But  ye  might  ha'  known  'twould  happen  from  the  way  the 

valley  lies. 
Where  ye  can't  hold  back  the  water  you  must  try  and  save  the 

sile. 
Hev  it  jest  as  you've  a  mind  to,  but,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  spile!" 


668  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  spiled  along  the  water-course  with  trunks  of  willow- 
trees 

And  planks  of  elms  behind  'em  and  immortal  oaken  knees. 
And  when  the  spates  of  Autumn  whirl  the  gravel-beds  away 
You  can  see  their  faithful  fragments  iron-hard  in  iron  clay. 


Georgii  Quinti  Anno  Sexto,  I,  who  own  the  River-field, 
Am  fortified  with  title-deeds,  attested,  signed  and  sealed, 
Guaranteeing  me,  my  assigns,  my  executors  and  heirs 
All  sorts  of  powers  and  profits  which — are  neither  mine  nor 
theirs. 

I  have  rights  of  chase  and  warren,  as  my  dignity  requires. 
I  can  fish — but  Hobden  tickles.  I  can  shoot — but  Hobden 

wires. 

I  repair,  but  he  reopens,  certain  gaps  which,  men  allege, 
Have  been  used  by  every  Hobden  since  a  Hobden  swapped  a 

hedge. 

Shall  I  dog  his  morning  progress  o'er  the  track-betraying 

dew? 

Demand  his  dinner-basket  into  which  my  pheasant  flew? 
Confiscate  his  evening  faggot  under  which  the  conies  ran, 
And  summons  him  to  judgment?  I  would  sooner  summons 

Pan. 

His  dead  are  in  the  churchyard — thirty  generations  laid. 
Their  names  were  old  in  history  when  Domesday  Book  was 

made. 

And  the  passion  and  the  piety  and  prowess  of  his  line 
Have  seeded,  rooted,  fruited  in  some  land  the  Law  calls  mine. 

Not  for  any  beast  that  burrows,  not  for  any  bird  that  flies, 
Would  I  lose  his  large  sound  council,  miss  his  keen  amending 
eyes. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  669 

He  is  bailiff,  woodman,  wheelwright,  field-surveyor,  engineer, 
And  if  flagrantly  a  poacher — 'tain't  for  me  to  interfere. 

"Hob,  what  about  that  River-bit?"     I  turn  to  him  again, 

With  Fabricius  and  Ogier  and  William  of  Warenne 

"Hev  it  jest  as  you've  a  mind  to,  but" — and  here  he  takes 

command. 
For  whoever  pays  the  taxes  old  Mus'  Hobden  owns  the  land. 


CHAPTER  HEADINGS 
JUST-SO  STORIES 

\X7HEN  the  cabin  port-holes  are  dark  and  green 

Because  of  the  seas  outside; 
When  the  ship  goes  wop  (with  a  wiggle  between) 
And  the  steward  falls  into  the  soup-tureen, 

And  the  trunks  begin  to  slide; 
When  Nursey  lies  on  the  floor  in  a  heap, 
And  Mummy  tells  you  to  let  her  sleep, 
And  you  are  n't  waked  or  washed  or  dressed, 
Why,  then  you  will  know  (if  you  have  n't  guessed) 
You  're  "Fifty  North  and  Forty  West!" 

How  the  Whale  Got  His  Throat. 

The  Camel's  hump  is  an  ugly  lump 
Which  well  you  may  see  at  the  Zoo; 

But  uglier  yet  is  the  hump  we  get 
From  having  too  little  to  do. 

Kiddies  and  grown-ups  too-oo-oo, 
If  we  have  n't  enough  to  do-oo-oo, 

We  get  the  hump — 

Cameelious  hump — 
The  hump  that  is  black  and  blue! 


670  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

We  climb  out  of  bed  with  a  frouzly  head 

And  a  snarly-yarly  voice. 
We  shiver  and  scowl  and  we  grunt  and  we  growl 

At  our  bath  and  our  boots  and  our  toys; 

And  there  ought  to  be  a  corner  for  me 
(And  I  know  there  is  one  for  you) 

When  we  get  the  hump — 

Cameelious  hump — 
The  hump  that  is  black  and  blue! 

The  cure  for  this  ill  is  not  to  sit  still, 

Or  frowst  with  a  book  by  the  fire; 
But  to  take  a  large  hoe  and  a  shovel  also, 

And  dig  till  you  gently  perspire; 

And  then  you  will  find  that  the  sun  and  the  wind, 
And  the  Djinn  of  the  Garden  too, 

Have  lifted  the  hump — 

The  horrible  hump — 
The  hump  that  is  black  and  blue! 

I  get  it  as  well  as  you-oo-oo — 
If  I  haven't  enough  to  do-oo-oo! 

We  all  get  hump — 

Cameelious  hump — 
Kiddies  and  grown-ups  too! 

How  the  Camel  Got  His  Hump. 

I  am  the  Most  Wise  Baviaan,  saying  in  most  wise  tones, 
"Let  us  melt  into  the  landscape — just  us  two  by  our  lones." 
People  have  come — in  a  carriage — calling.     But  Mummy  is 

there.     .     .     . 

Yes,  I  can  go  if  you  take  me — Nurse  says  she  don't  care. 
Let's  go  up  to  the  pig-styes  and  sit  on  the  farmyard  rails! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  671 

Lets  say  things  to  the  bunnies,  and  watch  'em  skitter  their 

tails! 

Let's — oh,  anything,  daddy,  so  long  as  it's  you  and  me, 
And  going  truly  exploring,  and  not  being  in  till  tea! 
Here's  your  boots  (I've  brought  'em),  and  here's  your  cap  and 

stick, 
Ami  here's  your  pipe  and  tobacco.     Oh,  come  along  out  of  it 

— quick ! 

How  the  Leopard  Got  His  Spots. 


I  keep  six  honest  serving-men 

(They  taught  me  all  I  knew); 
Their  names  are  What  and  Why  and  When 

And  How  and  Where  and  Who. 
I  send  them  over  land  and  sea, 

I  send  them  east  and  west; 
But  after  they  have  worked  for  me, 

/  give  them  all  a  rest. 


/  let  them  rest  from  nine  till  five, 

For  I  am  busy  then, 
As  well  as  breakfast,  lunch,  and  tea, 

For  they  are  hungry  men. 
But  different  folk  have  different  views; 

I  know  a  person  small — 
She  keeps  ten  million  serving-men, 

Who  get  no  rest  at  all! 


She  sends  'em  abroad  on  her  own  affairs, 
From  the  second  she  opens  her  eyes — 

One  million  Hows,  two  million  Wheres, 
And  seven  million  Whys! 

The  Elephant's  Child. 


672  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

This  is  the  mouth-filling  song  of  the  race  that  was  run  by  a 

Boomer. 

Run  in  a  single  burst — only  event  of  its  kind — 
Started  by  Big  God  Nqong  from  Warrigaborrigarooma, 
Old  Man  Kangaroo  first,  Yellow-Dog  Dingo  behind. 

Kangaroo  bounded  away,  his  back-legs  working  like  pistons — 
Bounded  from  morning  till  dark,  twenty-five  feet  at  a  bound. 
Yellow-Dog  Dingo  lay  like  a  yellow  cloud  in  the  distance — 
Much  too  busy  to  bark.  My!  but  they  covered  the  ground! 

Nobody  knows  where  they  went,  or  followed  the  track  that 

they  flew  in, 

For  that  Continent  had  n't  been  given  a  name. 
They  ran  thirty  degrees,  from  Torres  Straits  to  the  Leeuwin 
(Look  at  the  Atlas,  please),  then  they  ran  back  as  they  came. 

S'posing  you  could  trot  from  Adelaide  to  the  Pacific, 
For  an  afternoon's  run — half  what  these  gentlemen  did — • 
You  would  feel  rather  hot,  but  your  legs  would  develop 

terrific — 
Yes,  my  importunate  son,  you'd  be  a  Marvellous  Kid! 

The  Sing-Song  of  Old  Man  Kangaroo. 

I've  never  sailed  the  Amazon, 

I've  never  reached  Brazil; 
But  the  Don  and  Magda/ena, 

They  can  go  there  when  they  will! 

Yes,  weekly  from  Southampton, 
Great  steamers,  white  and  gold, 
Go  rolling  down  to  Rio 
(Roll  down — roll  down  to  Rio!). 
And  I'd  like  to  roll  to  Rio 
Some  day  before  I'm  old! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  673 


I've  never  seen  a  Jaguar 
Nor  yet  an  Armadill — 

O  dilloing  in  his  armour, 
And  I  s'pose  I  never  will, 


Unless  I  go  to  Rio 
These  wonders  to.  behold — 
Roll  down — roll  down  to  Rio — 
Roll  really  down  to  Rio! 
Oh,  I'd  love  to  roll  to  Rio 
Some  day  before  I'm  old! 

The  Beginning  of  the  Armadilloes. 


China-going  P.  and  O.'s 

Pass  Pau  Amma's  playground  close, 

And  his  Pusat  Tasek  lies 

Near  the  track  of  most  B.  I.'s 

N.Y.K.  and  N.D.L. 

Know  Pau  Amma's  home  as  well 

As  the  Fisher  of  the  Sea  knows 

"Bens,"  M.M.'s,  and  Rubattinos. 

But  (and  this  is  rather  queer) 

A.T.L.'s  can  not  come  here; 

O.  and  O.  and  D.O.A. 

Must  go  round  another  way. 

Orient,  Anchor,  Bibby,  Hall, 

Never  go  that  way  at  all. 

U.C.S.  would  have  a  fit 

If  it  found  itself  on  it. 

And  if  "Beavers"  took  their  cargoes 

To  Penang  instead  of  Lagos, 

Or  a  fat  Shaw-Savill  bore 

Passengers  to  Singapore, 

Or  a  White  Star  were  to  try  a 

Little  trip  to  Sourabaya, 


674  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Or  a  B.S.A.  went  on 

Past  Natal  to  Cheribon, 

Then  great  Mr.  Lloyds  would  come 

With  a  wire  and  drag  them  home! 


You'll  know  what  my  riddle  means 
When  you've  eaten  mangosteens. 

The  Crab  That  Played  with  the  Sea. 

Pussy  can  sit  by  the  fire  and  sing, 

Pussy  can  climb  a  tree, 
Or  play  with  a  silly  old  cork  and  string 

To  'muse  herself,  not  me. 
But  I  like  Binkie  my  dog,  because 

He  knows  how  to  behave; 
So,  Binkie 's  the  same  as  the  First  Friend  was, 

And  I  am  the  Man  in  the  Cave! 

Pussy  will  play  man-Friday  till 

It's  time  to  wet  her  paw 
And  make  her  walk  on  the  window-sill 

(For  the  footprint  Crusoe  saw); 
Then  she  fluffles  her  tail  and  mews, 

And  scratches  and  won't  attend. 
But  Binkie  will  play  whatever  I  choose, 

And  he  is  my  true  First  Friend! 

Pussy  will  rub  my  knees  with  her  head 

Pretending  she  loves  me  hard; 
But  the  very  minute  I  go  to  my  bed 

Pussy  runs  out  in  the  yard, 
And  there  she  stays  till  the  morning-light; 

So  I  know  it  is  only  pretend; 
But  Binkie,  he  snores  at  my  feet  all  night, 

And  he  is  my  Firstest  Friend! 

The  Cat  That  Walked  by  Himself. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  675 

There  was  never  a  Queen  like  Balkis, 

From  here  to  the  wide  world's  end; 
But  Balkis  talked  to  a  butterfly 

As  you  would  talk  to  a  friend. 

There  was  never  a  King  like  Solomon, 

Not  since  the  world  began; 
But  Solomon  talked  to  a  butterfly 

As  a  man  would  talk  to  a  man. 

She  was  Queen  of  Sabaea — 

And  he  was  Asia's  Lord — 
But  they  both  of  'em  talked  to  butterflies 

When  they  took  their  walks  abroad! 

The  Butterfly  That  Stamped. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS 

{A  Country  Dance) 

QUEEN    Bess    was    Harry's    daughter.      Stand  forward 
partners  all ! 

In  ruff  and  stomacher  and  gown 
She  danced  King  Philip  down-a  down, 
And  left  her  shoe  to  show  'twas  true — 

(The  very  tune  I'm  playing  you) 
In  Norgem  at  Brickwall !  l 

The  Queen  was  in  her  chamber,  and  she  was  middling  old, 
Her  petticoat  was  satin,  and  her  stomacher  was  gold. 
Backward  and  forward  and  sideways  did  she  pass, 
Making  up  her  mind  to  face  the  cruel  looking-glass. 
The  cruel  looking-glass  that  will  never  show  a  lass 
As  comely  or  as  kindly  or  as  young  as  what  she  was! 

Queen  Bess  was  Harry 's  daughter.    Now  hand  your  partners  all! 

'A  pair  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  shoes  are  still  at  Brickwall  House,  North- 
iam,  Sussex. 


676  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  Queen  was  in  her  chamber,  a-combing  of  her  hair. 
There  came  Queen  Mary's  spirit  and  It  stood  behind  her 

chair, 

Singing  "  Backward  and  forward  and  sideways  may  you  pass, 
But  I  will  stand  behind  you  till  you  face  the  looking-glass. 
The  cruel  looking-glass  that  will  never  show  a  lass 
As  lovely  or  unlucky  or  as  lonely  as  I  was!" 

Queen  Bess  was  Harry's  daughter.     Now  turn  your  partners 
all! 

The  Queen  was  in  her  chamber,  a-weeping  very  sore, 
There  came  Lord  Leicester's  spirit  and  It  scratched  upon  the 

door, 

Singing  "  Backward  and  forward  and  sideways  may  you  pass, 
But  I  will  walk  beside  you  till  you  face  the  looking-glass. 
The  cruel  looking-glass  that  will  never  show  a  lass, 
As  hard  and  unforgiving  or  as  wicked  as  you  was!" 

Queen  Bess  was  Harry's  daughter.     Now  kiss  your  partners 
all! 

The  Queen  was  in  her  chamber,  her  sins  were  on  her  head. 
She  looked  the  spirits  up  and  down  and  statelily  she  said: — 
"Backward  and  forward  and  sideways  though  I've  been, 
Yet  I  am  Harry's  daughter  and  I  am  England's  Queen!" 
And  she  faced  the  looking-glass  (and  whatever  else  there  was) 
And  she  saw  her  day  was  over  and  she  saw  her  beauty  pass 
In  the  cruel  looking-glass,  that  can  always  hurt  a  lass 
More  hard  than  any  ghost  there  is  or  any  man  there  was! 


THE  QUEEN'S  MEN 

yALOUR  and  Innocence 

Have  latterly  gone  hence 
To  certain  death  by  certain  shame  attended. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  677 

Envy — ah !  even  to  tears ! — 

The  fortune  of  their  years 

Which,  though  so  few,  yet  so  divinely  ended. 

Scarce  had  they  lifted  up 

Life's  full  and  fiery  cup, 

Than  they  had  set  it  down  untouched  before  them. 

Before  their  day  arose 

They  beckoned  it  to  close — 

Close  in  confusion  and  destruction  o'er  them. 

They  did  not  stay  to  ask 

What  prize  should  crown  their  task — 

Well  sure  that  prize  was  such  as  no  man  strives  for; 

But  passed  into  eclipse, 

Her  kiss  upon  their  lips — 

Even  Belphoebe's,  whom  they  gave  their  lives  for! 


THE  CITY  OF  SLEEP 

/"WER  the  edge  of  the  purple  down, 

Where  the  single  lamplight  gleams, 
Know  ye  the  road  to  the  Merciful  Town 

That  is  hard  by  the  Sea  of  Dreams — 
Where  the  poor  may  lay  their  wrongs  away, 

And  the  sick  may  forget  to  weep? 
But  we — pity  us!     Oh,  pity  us! 

We  wakeful;  ah,  pity  us! — 
We  must  go  back  with  Policeman  Day — 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep! 

Weary  they  turn  from  the  scroll  and  crown, 
Fetter  and  prayer  and  plough — 

They  that  go  up  to  the  Merciful  Town, 
For  her  gates  are  closing  now. 


678  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

It  is  their  right  in  the  Baths  of  Night 

Body  and  soul  to  steep, 
But  we — pity  us!  ah,  pity  us! 

We  wakeful;  oh,  pity  us! — 
We  must  go  back  with  Policeman  Day — 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep! 

Over  the  edge  of  the  purple  down, 

Ere  the  tender  dreams  begin, 
Look — we  may  look — at  the  Merciful  Town, 

But  we  may  not  enter  in ! 
Outcasts  all,  from  her  guarded  wall 

Back  to  our  watch  we  creep: 
We — pity  us!  ah,  pity  us! 

We  wakeful;  oh,  pity  us! — 
We  that  go  back  with  Policeman  Day — 

Back  from  the  City  of  Sleep! 


"HELEN  ALL  ALONE" 

HPHERE  was  darkness  under  Heaven 

For  an  hour's  space — 
Darkness  that  we  knew  was  given 

Us  for  special  grace. 
Sun  and  moon  and  stars  were  hid, 

God  had  left  His  Throne, 
When  Helen  came  to  me,  she  did. 

Helen  all  alone! 

Side  by  side  (because  our  fate 

Damned  us  ere  our  birth) 
We  stole  out  of  Limbo  Gate 

Looking  for  the  Earth. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  679 

Hand  in  pulling  hand  amid 

Fear  no  dreams  have  known, 
Helen  ran  with  me,  she  did, 

Helen  all  alone! 


When  the  Horror  passing  speech 

Hunted  us  along, 
Each  laid  hold  on  each,  and  each 

Found  the  other  strong. 
In  the  teeth  of  Things  forbid 

And  Reason  overthrown, 
Helen  stood  by  me,  she  did, 

Helen  all  alone! 


When,  at  last,  we  heard  those  Fires 

Dull  and  die  away, 
When,  at  last,  our  linked  desires 

Dragged  us  up  to  day; 
When,  at  last,  our  souls  were  rid 

Of  what  that  Night  had  shown, 
Helen  passed  from  me,  she  did, 

Helen  all  alone! 


Let  her  go  and  find  a  mate, 

As  I  will  find  a  bride, 
Knowing  naught  of  Limbo  Gate 

Or  Who  are  penned  inside. 
There  is  knowledge  God  forbid 

More  than  one  should  own. 
So  Helen  went  from  me,  she  did, 
Oh  my  soul,  be  glad  she  did! 

Helen  all  alone! 


680  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  WIDOWER 

IfOR  a  season  there  must  be  pain — 

For  a  little,  little  space 
I  shall  lose  the  sight  of  her  face, 
Take  back  the  old  life  again 
While  She  is  at  rest  in  her  place. 

For  a  season  this  pain  must  endure, 
For  a  little,  little  while 
I  shall  sigh  more  often  than  smile 
Till  Time  shall  work  me  a  cure, 
And  the  pitiful  days  beguile. 

For  that  season  we  must  be  apart, 
For  a  little  length  of  years, 
Till  my  life's  last  hour  nears, 
And,  above  the  beat  of  my  heart, 
I  hear  Her  voice  in  my  ears. 

But  I  shall  not  understand — 

Being  set  on  some  later  love, 

Shall  not  know  her  for  whom  I  strove, 

Till  she  reach  me  forth  her  hand, 

Saying,  "Who  but  I  have  the  right?" 

And  out  of  a  troubled  night 

Shall  draw  me  safe  to  the  land. 


THE  PRAYER  OF  MIRIAM  COHEN 

"PROM  the  wheel  and  the  drift  of  Things 

Deliver  us,  Good  Lord, 
And  we  will  face  the  wrath  of  Kings 
The  faggot  and  the  sword! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  68 1 

Lay  not  Thy  Works  before  our  eyes 
Nor  vex  us  with  Thy  Wars 
Lest  we  should  feel  the  straining  skies 
O'ertrod  by  trampling  stars. 

Hold  us  secure  behind  the  gates 

Of  saving  flesh  and  bone, 

Lest  we  should  dream  what  Dream  awaits 

The  soul  escaped  alone. 

Thy  Path,  Thy  Purposes  conceal 
From  our  beleaguered  realm, 
Lest  any  shattering  whisper  steal 
Upon  us  and  o'erwhelm. 

A  veil  'twixt  us  and  Thee,  Good  Lord, 
A  veil  'twixt  us  and  Thee, 
Lest  we  should  hear  too  clear,  too  clear, 
And  unto  madness  see ! 


THE  COMFORTERS 

|JNTIL  thy  feet  have  trod  the  Road 

Advise  not  wayside  folk, 
Nor  till  thy  back  has  borne  the  Load 
Break  in  upon  the  broke. 

Chase  not  with  undesired  largesse 

Of  sympathy  the  heart 
Which,  knowing  her  own  bitterness, 

Presumes  to  dwell  apart. 


682  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Employ  not  that  glad  hand  to  raise 
The  God-forgotten  head 

To  Heaven,  and  all  the  neighbours'  gaze- 
Cover  thy  mouth  instead. 

The  quivering  chin,  the  bitten  lip, 
The  cold  and  sweating  brow, 

Later  may  yearn  for  fellowship — 
Not  now,  you  ass,  not  now! 

Time,  not  thy  ne'er  so  timely  speech, 
Life,  not  thy  views  thereon, 

Shall  furnish  or  deny  to  each 
His  consolation. 


Or,  if  impelled  to  interfere, 
Exhort,  uplift,  advise, 

Lend  not  a  base,  betraying  ear 
To  all  the  victim's  cries. 


Only  the  Lord  can  understand 
When  those  first  pangs  begin. 

How  much  is  reflex  action  and 
How  much  is  really  sin. 

E'en  from  good  words  thyself  refrain, 

And  tremblingly  admit 
There  is  no  anodyne  for  pain 

Except  the  shock  of  it. 

So,  when  thine  own  dark  hour  shall  fall, 
Unchallenged  canst  thou  say: 

"I  never  worried  you  at  all, 
For  God's  sake  go  away!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  683 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  LITTLE  HUNTER 

Mor  the  Peacock  flutters,  ere  the  Monkey  People 

cry, 

Ere  Chil  the  Kite  swoops  down  a  furlong  sheer, 
Through  the  Jungle  very  softly  flits  a  shadow  and  a  sigh  — 

He  is  Fear,  O  Little  Hunter,  he  is  Fear! 
Very  softly  down  the  glade  runs  a  waiting,  watching  shade, 

And  the  whisper  spreads  and  widens  far  and  near. 
And  the  sweat  is  on  thy  brow,  for  he  passes  even  now  — 
He  is  Fear,  O  Little  Hunter,  he  is  Fear! 

Ere  the  moon  has  climbed  the  mountain,  ere  the  rocks  are 

ribbed  with  light, 

When  the  downward-dipping  trails  are  dank  and  drear, 
Comes  a  breathing  hard  behind  thee  —  snuffle-snuffle  through 

the  night  — 

It  is  Fear,  O  Little  Hunter,  it  is  Fear! 
On  thy  knees  and  draw  the  bow;  bid  the  shrilling  arrow  go; 

In  the  empty,  mocking  thicket  plunge  the  spear! 
But  thy  hands  are  loosed  and  weak,  and  the  blood  has  left 

thy  cheek  — 
It  is  Fear,  O  Little  Hunter,  it  is  Fear! 

When  the  heat-cloud  sucks  the  tempest,  when  the  slivered 

pine-trees  fall, 

When  the  blinding,  blaring  rain-squalls  lash  and  veer, 
Through  the  war-gongs  of  the  thunder  rings  a  voice  more  loud 

than  all  — 

It  is  Fear,  O  Little  Hunter,  it  is  Fear! 
Now  the  spates  are  banked  and  deep;  now  the  footless  boul- 

ders leap  — 

Now  the  lightning  shows  each  littlest  leaf-rib  clear  — 
But  thy  throat  is  shut  and  dried,  and  thy  heart  against  thy 

side 
Hammers:  Fear,  O  Little  Hunter  —  this  is  Fear! 


684  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

GOW'S  WATCH 

ACT  II.     SCENE  2. 
The  pavilion  in  the  Gardens.     Enter  FERDINAND  and  the  KING 

FERDINAND.     Your  tiercel's  too  long  at  hack,  Sir.     He's 

no  eyass 

But  a  passage-hawk  that  footed  ere  we  caught  him, 
Dangerously  free  o'  the  air.     'Faith  were  he  mine 
(As  mine's  the  glove  he  binds  to  for  his  tirings) 
I'd  fly  him  with  a  make-hawk.     He's  in  yarak 
Plumed  to  the  very  point.     So  manned  so — weathered! 
Give  him  the  firmament  God  made  him  for 
And  what  shall  take  the  air  of  him  ? 

THE  KING.     A  young  wing  yet 

Bold — overbold  on  the  perch  but,  think  you,  Ferdinand, 
He  can  endure  the  raw  skies  yonder?     Cozen 
Advantage  out  of  the  teeth  of  the  hurricane? 
Choose  his  own  mate  against  the  lammer-geier? 
Ride  out  a  night-long  tempest,  hold  his  pitch 
Between  the  lightning  and  the  cloud  it  leaps  from, 
Never  too  pressed  to  kill? 

FERDINAND.     I'll  answer  for  him. 
Bating  all  parable,  I  know  the  Prince. 
There's  a  bleak  devil  in  the  young,  my  Lord; 
God  put  it  there  to  save  'em  from  their  elders 
And  break  their  father's  heart,  but  bear  them  scatheless 
Through  mire  and  thorns  and  blood  if  need  be.     Think 
What  our  prime  saw!     Such  glory,  such  achievements 
As  now  our  children,  wondering  at,  examine 
Themselves  to  see  if  they  shall  hardly  equal. 
But  what  cared  we  while  we  wrought  the  wonders  ?     Nothing ! 
The  rampant  deed  contented. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  685 

THE  KING.    Little  enough.  God  knows!   But  afterwards. — 

after — 
Then  comes  the  reckoning.     I  would  save  him  that. 

FERDINAND.  Save  him  dry  scars  that  ache  of  winter- 
nights, 

Worn  out  self-pity  and  as  much  of  knowledge 

As  makes  old  men  fear  judgment?  Then  loose  him — loose 
him 

A'  God's  name  loose  him  to  adventure  early! 

And  trust  some  random  pike,  or  half-backed  horse, 

Besides  what's  caught  in  Italy,  to  save  him. 

THE  KING.  I  know.  I  know.  And  yet.  .  .  .  What 
stirs  in  the  garden? 

Enter  Gow  and  a  GARDENER  bearing  the  Prince's  body 

FERDINAND.  (Gods  give  me  patience!)  Gow  and  a  gar- 
dener 

Bearing  some  load  along  in  the  dusk  to  the  dunghill. 
Nay — a  dead  branch —     But  as  I  said,  the  Prince 

THE  KING.  They've  laid  it  down.  Strange  they  should 
work  so  late. 

Gow  (setting  down  the  body}.  Heark,  you  unsanctified  fool 
while  I  set  out  our  story.  W7e  found  it,  this  side  the  North 
Park  wall  which  it  had  climbed  to  pluck  nectarines  from  the 
alley.  Heark  again !  There  was  a  nectarine  in  its  hand  when 
we  found  it,  and  the  naughty  brick  that  slipped  from  the  cop- 
ing beneath  its  foot  and  so  caused  its  death,  lies  now  under 
the  wall  for  the  King  to  see. 

THE  KING  (above').  The  King  to  see!  Why  should  he? 
Who's  the  man? 


686  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Gow.  That  is  your  tale.  Swerve  from  it  by  so  much  as 
the  breadth  of  my  dagger  and  here's  your  instant  reward. 
You  heard  not,  saw  not,  and  by  the  Horns  of  ninefold-cuck- 
olded Jupiter  you  thought  not  nor  dreamed  not  anything 
more  or  other! 

THE  KING.  Ninefold-cuckolded  Jupiter.  That's  a  rare 
oath!  Shall  we  look  closer? 

FERDINAND.  Not  yet,  my  Lord!  (I  cannot  hear  him 
breathe.) 

GARDENER.  The  North  Park  wall?  It  was  so.  Pluck- 
ing nectarines.  It  shall  be.  But  how  shall  I  say  if  any  ask 
why  our  Lady  the  Queen 

Gow  (stabs  him}.  Thus!  Hie  after  the  Prince  and  tell 
him  y'are  the  first  fruits  of  his  nectarine  tree.  Bleed  there 
behind  the  laurels. 

THE  KING.  Why  did  Gow  buffet  the  clown?  What  said 
he?  I'll  go  look. 

FERDINAND  (above).     Save  yourself!     It  is  the  King! 

Enter  the  KING  and  FERDINAND  to  Gow 
Gow.     God  save  you!     This  was  the  Prince! 

THE  KING.     The    Prince!     Not    a    dead    branch?     (Un- 
covers the  face.} 
My  flesh  and  blood!     My  son!  my  son!  my  son! 

FERDINAND  (to  Gow).  I  had  feared  something  of  this. 
And  that  fool  yonder? 

Gow.     Dead,  or  as  good.     He  cannot  speak. 
FERDINAND.     Better  so. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  687 

THE  KING.     "Loosed  to  adventure  early!"     Tell  the  tale. 

Gow.  Saddest  truth  alack!  I  came  upon  him  not  a  half 
hour  since,  fallen  from  the  North  Park  wall  over  against  the 
Deerpark  side — dead — dead! — a  nectarine  in  his  hand  that 
the  dear  lad  must  have  climbed  for,  and  plucked  the  very 
instant,  look  you,  that  a  brick  slipped  on  the  coping.  'Tis 
there  now.  So  I  lifted  him,  but  his  neck  was  as  you  see — and 
already  cold. 

THE  KING.  Oh,  very  cold.  But  why  should  he  have 
troubled  to  climb  ?  He  was  free  of  all  the  fruit  in  my  garden 
God  knows!  .  .  .  What,  Gow? 

Gow.     Surely,  God  knows! 

THE  KING.  A  lad's  trick.  But  I  love  him  the  better 
for  it.  ...  True,  he's  past  loving.  .  .  .  And  now 
we  must  tell  our  Queen.  What  a  coil  at  the  day's  end !  She'll 
grieve  for  him.  Not  as  I  shall,  Ferdinand,  but  as  youth  for 
youth.  They  were  much  of  the  same  age.  Playmate  for 
playmate.  See,  he  wears  her  colours.  That  is  the  knot  she 
gave  him  last — last.  .  .  .  Oh  God!  When  was  yester- 
day? 

FERDINAND.  Come  in!  Come  in,  my  Lord.  There's  a 
dew  falling. 

THE  KING.  He'll  take  no  harm  of  it.  I'll  follow  pres- 
ently. .  .  . 

He's  all  his  mother's  now  and  none  of  mine — 
Her  very  face  on  the  bride-pillow.     Yet  I  tricked  her. 
But  that  was  later — and  she  never  guessed. 
I  do  not  think  he  sinned  much — he's  too  young — 
Much  the  same  age  as  my  Queen.     God  must  not  judge  him 
Too  hardly  for  such  slips  as  youth  may  fall  in. 
But  I'll  entreat  that  Throne. 
(Prays  by  the  body.) 


688  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Gow.  The  Heavens  hold  up  still.  Earth  opens  not  and 
this  dew's  mere  water.  What  shall  a  man  think  of  it  all  ?  (To 
GARDENER.)  Not  dead  yet,  sirrah?  I  bade  you  follow  the 
Prince.  Despatch! 

GARDENER.  Some  kind  soul  pluck  out  the  dagger.  Why 
did  you  slay  me ?  I'd  done  no  wrong.  I'd  ha' kept  it  secret 
till  my  dying  day.  But  not  now — not  now!  I'm  dying. 
The  Prince  fell  from  the  Queen's  chamber  window.  I  saw  it 
in  the  nut-alley.  He  was 

FERDINAND.  But  what  made  you  in  the  nut-alley  at  that 
hour? 

GARDENER.  No  wrong.  No  more  than  another  man's 
wife.  Jocasta  of  the  still-room.  She'd  kissed  me  good-night 
too;  but  that's  over  with  the  rest.  .  .  .  I've  stumbled  on 
the  Prince's  beastly  loves,  and  I  pay  for  all.  Let  me  pass! 

Gow.     Count  it  your  fortune,  honest  man.     You  would 
have  revealed  it  to  your  woman  at  the  next  meeting.     You 
fleshmongers  are  all  one  feather.     (Plucks  out  the  dagger.) 
Go  in  peace  and  lay  your  death  to  Fortune's  door.     He's 
sped — thank  Fortune! 

FERDINAND.  Who  knows  not  Fortune,  glutted  on  easy 
thrones, 

Stealing  from  feasts  as  rare  to  coney-catch 
Privily  in  the  hedgerows  for  a  clown, 
With  that  same  cruel-lustful  hand  and  eye, 
Those  nails  and  wedges,  that  one  hammer  and  lead, 
And  the  very  gerb  of  long-stored  lightning  loosed. 
Yesterday  'gainst  some  King. 

THE  KING.     I  have  pursued  with  prayers  where  my  heart 

warns  me 
My  soul  shall  overtake — 

Enter  the  QUEEN 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  689 

THE  KING.  Look  not!  Wait  till  I  tell  you,  dearest.  .  .  . 
Air!  .  .  . 

"Loosed  to  adventure  early" 
.     .     .     I  go  late.     (Dies.) 

Gow.  So!  God  hath  cut  off  the  Prince  in  his  pleasures. 
Gow,  to  save  the  King,  hath  silenced  one  poor  fool  who  knew 
how  it  befell,  and,  now  the  King's  dead,'  needs  only  that  the 
Queen  should  kill  Gow  and  all's  safe  for  her  this  side  o'  the 
Judgment.  .  .  .  Senor  Ferdinand,  the  wind's  easterly. 
I'm  for  the  road. 

FERDINAND.  My  horse  is  at  the  gate.  God  speed  you. 
Whither? 

Gow.  To  the  Duke,  if  the  Queen  does  not  lay  hands  on 
me  before.  However  it  goes,  I  charge  you  bear  witness, 
Senor  Ferdinand,  I  served  the  old  King  faithfully.  To  the 
death,  Senor  Ferdinand — to  the  death! 


THE  WISHING-CAPS 

T   IFE'S  all  getting  and  giving, 

~*  I've  only  myself  to  give. 
What  shall  I  do  for  a  living? 
I've  only  one  life  to  live. 
End  it?     I'll  not  find  another. 
Spend  it?     But  how  shall  I  best? 
Sure  the  wise  plan  is  to  live  like  a  man 
And  Luck  may  look  after  the  rest! 
Largesse!     Largesse,  Fortune! 
Give  or  hold  at  your  will. 
If  I've  no  care  for  Fortune 
Fortune  must  follow  me  still. 


690  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Bad  Luck,  she  is  never  a  lady 

But  the  commonest  wench  on  the  street. 

Shuffling,  shabby  and  shady, 

Shameless  to  pass  or  meet. 

Walk  with  her  once — it's  a  weakness! 

Talk  to  her  twice — it's  a  crime ! 

Thrust  her  away  when  she  gives  you  "good  day 

And  the  besom  won't  board  you  next  time. 

Largesse!     Largesse,  Fortune! 

What  is  Your  Ladyship's  mood  ? 

If  I've  no  care  for  Fortune, 

My  Fortune  is  bound  to  be  good! 

Good  Luck  she  is  never  a  lady 

But  the  cursedest  quean  alive! 

Tricksey,  wincing  and  jady, 

Kittle  to  lead  or  drive. 

Greet  her — she's  hailing  a  stranger! 

Meet  her — she's  busking  to  leave. 

Let  her  alone  for  a  shrew  to  the  bone, 

And  the  hussy  comes  plucking  your  sleeve ! 

Largesse!     Largesse,  Fortune! 

I'll  neither  follow  nor  flee. 

If  I  don't  run  after  Fortune 

Fortune  must  run  after  me! 


BY  THE  HOOF  OF  THE  WILD  GOAT" 

gY  THE  Hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat  uptossed 
From  the  cliff  where  she  lay  in  the  Sun 
Fell  the  Stone 

To  the  Tarn  where  the  daylight  is  lost, 
So  she  fell  from  the  light  of  the  Sun 
And  alone! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  691 

Now  the  fall  was  ordained  from  the  first 

With  the  Goat  and  the  Cliff  and  the  Tarn, 

But  the  Stone 

Knows  only  her  life  is  accursed 

As  she  sinks  from  the  light  of  the  Sun 

And  alone! 


Oh  Thou  Who  has  builded  the  World, 
Oh  Thou  Who  has  lighted  the  Sun, 
Oh  Thou  Who  has  darkened  the  Tarn, 
Judge  Thou 

The  sin  of  the  Stone  that  was  hurled 
By  the  goat  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 
As  she  sinks  in  the  mire  of  the  Tarn, 
Even  now — even  now — even  now! 


SONG  OF  THE  RED  WAR-BOAT 

(A.  D.  683) 

gHOVE  off  from  the  wharf-edge !     Steady ! 

Watch  for  a  smooth!     Give  way! 
If  she  feels  the  lop  already 
She'll  stand  on  her  head  in  the  bay. 
It's  ebb — it's  dusk — it's  blowing 
The  shoals  are  a  mile  of  white, 
But  (snatch  her  along!)  we're  going 
To  find  our  master  to-night. 

For  we  hold  that  in  all  disaster 
Of  shipwreck,  storm,  or  sword, 
A  Man  must  stand  by  his  Master 
When  once  he  has  pledged  his  word. 


692  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Raging  seas  have  we  rowed  in 
But  we  seldom  saw  them  thus, 
Our  master  is  angry  with  Odin — 
Odin  is  angry  with  us! 
Heavy  odds  have  we  taken, 
But  never  before  such  odds. 
The  Gods  know  they  are  forsaken, 
We  must  risk  the  wrath  of  the  Gods! 


Over  the  crest  she  flies  from, 
Into  its  hollow  she  drops, 
Cringes  and  clears  her  eyes  from 
The  wind-torn  breaker-tops, 
Ere  out  on  the  shrieking  shoulder 
Of  a  hill-high  surge  she  drives. 
Meet  her!     Meet  her  and  hold  her! 
Pull  for  your  scoundrel  lives! 

The  thunders  bellow  and  clamour 
The  harm  that  they  mean  to  do! 
There  goes  Thor's  own  Hammer 
Cracking  the  dark  in  two! 
Close!     But  the  blow  has  missed  her, 
Here  comes  the  wind  of  the  blow! 
Row  or  the  squall  '11  twist  her 
Broadside  on  to  it! — Row  ! 


Heark  'ee,  Thor  of  the  Thunder! 
We  are  not  here  for  a  jest — 
For  wager,  warfare,  or  plunder, 
Or  to  put  your  power  to  test. 
This  work  is  none  of  our  wishing — 
We  would  house  at  home  if  we  might — 
But  our  master  is  wrecked  out  fishing. 
We  go  to  find  him  to-night. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  693 

For  we  hold  that  in  all  disaster — 
As  the  Gods  Themselves  have  said — 
A  Man  must  stand  by  his  Master 
Till  one  of  the  two  is  dead. 

That  is  our  way  of  thinking, 

Now  you  can  do  as  you  will, 

While  we  try  to  save  her  from  sinking, 

And  hold  her  head  to  it  still. 

Bale  her  and  keep  her  moving, 

Or  she'll  break  her  back  in  the  trough.     .     .     . 

Who  said  the  weather's  improving, 

Or  the  swells  are  taking  off? 

Sodden,  and  chafed  and  aching, 

Gone  in  the  loins  and  knees — 

No  matter — the  day  is  breaking, 

And  there's  far  less  weight  to  the  seas! 

Up  mast,  and  finish  baling — 

In  oars,  and  out  with  the  mead — 

The  rest  will  be  two-reef  sailing.     .     .     . 

That  was  a  night  indeed! 

But  we  hold  that  in  all  disaster 
(And  faith,  we  have  found  it  true  /) 
If  only  you  stand  by  your  Master, 
The  Gods  will  stand  by  you  ! 


MINE    SWEEPERS 

1914-18 

FJAWN  off  the  Foreland — the  young  flood  making 

Jumbled  and  short  and  steep — 
Black  in  the  hollows  and  bright  where  it's  breaking — 


694  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Awkward  water  to  sweep. 
"Mines  reported  in  the  fairway, 
"Warn  all  traffic  and  detain. 

'"Sent  up  Unity,  Claribel,  Assyrian,  Stormcock,  and  Golden 
Gain" 

Noon  off  the  Foreland — the  first  ebb  making 

Lumpy  and  strong  in  the  bight. 
Boom  after  boom,  and  the  golf-hut  shaking 

And  the  jackdaws  wild  with  fright! 

"Mines  located  in  the  fairway, 

"Boats  now  working  up  thje  chain, 

"Sweepers — Unify,  Claribel \  Assyrian,  Stormcock,  and  Golden 
Gain" 

Dusk  off  the  Foreland — the  last  light  going 

And  the  traffic  crowding  through, 
And  five  damned  trawlers  with  their  syreens  blowing 

Heading  the  whole  review! 

"Sweep  completed  in  the  fairway. 

"No  more  mines  remain. 

"  'Sent  back  Unity,  Claribel,  Assyrian,  Stormcock,  and  Golden 
Gain" 


MORNING  SONG  IN  THE  JUNGLE 


moment  past  our  bodies  cast 
No  shadow  on  the  plain; 
Now  clear  and  black  they  stride  our  track, 

And  we  run  home  again. 
In  morning  hush,  each  rock  and  bush 

Stands  hard,  and  high,  and  raw: 
Then  give  the  Call:     "Good  rest  to  all 
That  keep  the  Jungle  Law  !" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  695 

Now  horn  and  pelt  our  peoples  melt 

In  covert  to  abide; 
Now,  crouched  and  still,  to  cave  and  hill 

Our  Jungle  Barons  glide. 
Now,  stark  and  plain,  Man's  oxen  strain, 

That  draw  the  new-yoked  plough; 
Now,  stripped  and  dread,  the  dawn  is  red 

Above  the  lit  talao.1 

Ho!     Get  to  lair!     The  sun's  aflare 

Behind  the  breathing  grass: 
And  creaking  through  the  young  bamboo 

The  warning  whispers  pass. 
By  day  made  strange,  the  woods  we  range 

With  blinking  eyes  we  scan; 
While  down  the  skies  the  wild  duck  cries: 

"  The  Day— the  Day  to  Man  !  " 

The  dew  is  dried  that  drenched  our  hide, 

Or  washed  about  our  way; 
And  where  we  drank,  the  puddled  bank 

Is  crisping  into  clay. 
The  traitor  Dark  gives  up  each  mark 

Of  stretched  or  hooded  claw; 
Then  hear  the  Call:  "Good  rest  to  all 

That  keep  the  Jungle  Law  !" 


BLUE  ROSES 

DOSES  red  and  roses  white 

Plucked  I  for  my  love's  delight. 
She  would  none  of  all  my  posies — 
Bade  me  gather  her  blue  roses. 
1  Pond  or  lake. 


696  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Half  the  world  I  wandered  through, 
Seeking  where  such  flowers  grew 
Half  the  world  unto  my  quest 
Answered  me  with  laugh  and  jest. 

Home  I  came  at  wintertide 
But  my  silly  love  had  died 
Seeking  with  her  latest  breath 
Roses  from  the  arms  of  Death. 

It  may  be  beyond  the  grave 
She  shall  find  what  she  would  have. 
Mine  was  but  an  idle  quest — 
Roses  white  and  red  are  best! 


A  RIPPLE  SONG 


o 


NCE  a  ripple  came  to  land 

In  the  golden  sunset  burning — 
Lapped  against  a  maiden's  hand, 
By  the  ford  returning. 

Dainty  foot  and  gentle  breast — 
Here,  across,  be  glad  and  rest. 
"Maiden,  wait,"  the  ripple  saith; 
"Wait  awhile, for  I  am  Death  /" 

"Where  my  lover  calls  I  go — 

Shame  it  were  to  treat  him  coldly — 

'Twas  a  fish  that  circled  so, 
Turning  over  boldly." 

Dainty  foot  and  tender  heart, 
Wait  the  loaded  ferry -cart. 
"Wait,  ah,  wait  /"  the  ripple  saith; 
"Maiden,  wait,  for  I  am  Death  /" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  697 

"  When  my  lover  calls  I  haste — 
Dame  Disdain  was  never  wedded!" 

Ripple-ripple  round  her  waist, 
Clear  the  current  eddied 

Foolish  heart  and  faithful  hand, 
Little  feet  that  touched  no  land. 
Far  away  the  ripple  sped, 
Ripple — ripple  running  red! 


BUTTERFLIES 

aloft,  over  dangerous  places, 
The  children  follow  the  butterflies, 
And,  in  the  sweat  of  their  upturned  faces, 
Slash  with  a  net  at  the  empty  skies. 

So  it  goes  they  fall  amid  brambles, 
And  sting  their  toes  on  the  nettle-tops, 
Till,  after  a  thousand  scratches  and  scrambles, 
They  wipe  their  brows  and  the  hunting  stops. 

Then  to  quiet  them  comes  their  father 
And  stills  the  riot  of  pain  and  grief, 
Saying,  *  Little  ones,  go  and  gather 
Out  of  my  garden  a  cabbage-leaf. 

"You  will  find  on  it  whorls  and  clots  of 

Dull  grey  eggs  that,  properly  fed, 

Turn,  by  way  of  the  worm,  to  lots  of 

Glorious  butterflies  raised  from  the  dead."     .     .     . 

"Heaven  is  beautiful,  Earth  is  ugly" 

The  three-dimensioned  preacher  saith, 

So  we  must  not  look  where  the  snail  and  the  slug  lie 

For  Psyche's  birth.     .     .     .     And  that  is  our  death ! 


698  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 


MY  LADY'S  LAW 

TPHE  Law  whereby  my  lady  moves 

Was  never  Law  to  me, 
But  'tis  enough  that  she  approves 
Whatever  Law  it  be. 

For  in  that  Law,  and  by  that  Law, 
My  constant  course  I'll  steer; 
Not  that  I  heed  or  deem  it  dread, 
But  that  she  holds  it  dear. 

Tho*  Asia  sent  for  my  content 
Her  richest  argosies, 
Those  would  I  spurn,  and  bid  return, 
If  that  should  give  her  ease. 

With  equal  heart  I'd  watch  depart 
Each  spiced  sail  from  sight, 
Sans  bitterness,  desiring  less 
Great  gear  than  her  delight. 

Though  Kings  made  swift  with  many  a  gift 
My  proven  sword  to  hire — 
I  would  not  go  nor  serve  'em  so — 
Except  at  her  desire. 

With  even  mind,  I'd  put  behind 
Adventure  and  acclaim, 
And  clean  give  o'er,  esteeming  more 
Her  favour  than  my  fame. 

Yet  such  am  I,  yea  such  am  I — 
Sore  bond  and  freest  free, 
The  Law  that  sways  my  lady's  ways 
Is  mystery  to  me! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  699 

THE  NURSING  SISTER 

(Maternity  Hospital} 

/^VUR  sister  sayeth  such  and  such, 

And  we  must  bow  to  her  behests; 
Our  sister  toileth  overmuch, 
Our  little  maid  that  hath  no  breasts. 

A  field  unfilled,  a  web  unwove, 
A  flower  withheld  from  sun  or  bee, 
An  alien  in  the  courts  of  Love, 
And — teacher  unto  such  as  we! 


We  love  her,  but  we  laugh  the  while, 

We  laugh,  but  sobs  are  mixed  with  laughter; 

Our  sister  hath  no  time  to  smile, 

She  knows  not  what  must  follow  after. 


Wind  of  the  South,  arise  and  blow, 
From  beds  of  spice  thy  locks  shake  free; 
Breathe  on  her  heart  that  she  may  know, 
Breathe  on  her  eyes  that  she  may  see. 

Alas!  we  vex  her  with  our  mirth, 
And  maze  her  with  most  tender  scorn, 
Who  stands  beside  the  gates  of  Birth, 
Herself  a  child — a  child  unborn ! 


Our  sister  sayeth  such  and  such, 
And  we  must  bow  to  her  behests  ; 
Our  sister  toileth  overmuch^ 
Our  little  maid  that  hath  no  breasts. 


700  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  LOVE  SONG  OF  HAR  DYAL 

A  LONE  upon  the  housetops  to  the  North 

I  turn  and  watch  the  lightning  in  the  sky — 
The  glamour  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  North. 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die. 

Below  my  feet  the  still  bazar  is  laid — 
Far,  far  below  the  weary  camels  lie — 
The  camels  and  the  captives  of  thy  raid. 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  I 

My  father's  wife  is  old  and  harsh  with  years 
And  drudge  of  all  my  father's  house  am  I — 
My  bread  is  sorrow  and  my  drink  is  tears. 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved^  or  I  die  ! 


A  DEDICATION 

(To  Soldiers  Three} 

AND  they  were  stronger  hands  than  mine 
That  digged  the  Ruby  from  the  earth — 
More  cunning  brains  that  made  it  worth 
The  large  desire  of  a  king, 
And  stouter  hearts  that  through  the  brine 
Went  down  the  perfect  Pearl  to  bring. 

Lo,  I  have  wrought  in  common  ciay 
Rude  figures  of  a  rough-hewn  race, 
Since  pearls  strew  not  the  market-place 
In  this  my  town  of  banishment, 
Where  with  the  shifting  dust  I  play, 
And  eat  the  bread  of  discontent. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  701 

Yet  is  there  life  in  that  I  make. 

O  thou  who  knowest,  turn  and  see — 

As  thou  hast  power  over  me 

So  have  I  power  over  these, 

Because  I  wrought  them  for  thy  sake, 

And  breathed  in  them  mine  agonies. 


Small  mirth  was  in  the  making — now 
I  lift  the  cloth  that  cloaks  the  clay, 
And,  wearied,  at  thy  feet  I  lay 
My  wares,  ere  I  go  forth  to  sell. 
The  long  bazar  will  praise,  but  thou — 
Heart  of  my  heart — have  I  done  well? 


MOTHER  O'  MINE 


F 


I  were  hanged  on  the  highest  hill, 
Mother  o'  miney  0  mother  o'  mine  ! 
I  know  whose  love  would  follow  me  still, 
Mother  o'  mine,  0  mother  o'  mine  ! 


If  I  were  drowned  in  the  deepest  sea, 
Mother  o'  mine,  0  mother  o'  mine  ! 
I  know  whose  tears  would  come  down  to  me, 
Mother  o'  mine,  0  mother  o'  mine  ! 


If  I  were  damned  of  body  and  soul, 

I  know  whose  prayers  would  make  me  whole, 

Mother  o'  mine^  0  mother  o'  mine  ! 


702  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  ONLY  SON 

CHE  dropped  the  bar,  she  shot  the  bolt,  she  fed  the  fire 
anew, 

For  she  heard  a  whimper  under  the  sill  and  a  great  grey  paw 
came  through. 

The  fresh  flame  comforted  the  hut  and  shone  on  the  roof- 
beam, 

And  the  Only  Son  lay  down  again  and  dreamed  that  he 
dreamed  a  dream. 

The  last  ash  fell  from  the  withered  log  with  the  click  of  a  fall- 
ing spark, 

And  the  Only  Son  woke  up  again,  and  called  across  the 
dark:— 

"Now  was  I  born  of  womankind  and  laid  in  a  mother's 
breast? 

For  I  have  dreamed  of  a  shaggy  hide  whereon  I  went  to  rest. 

And  was  I  born  of  womankind  and  laid  on  a  father's  arm  ? 

For  I  have  dreamed  of  clashing  teeth  that  guarded  me  from 
harm. 

And  was  I  born  an  Only  Son  and  did  I  play  alone? 

For  I  have  dreamed  of  comrades  twain  that  bit  me  to  the 
bone. 

And  did  I  break  the  barley-cake  and  steep  it  in  the  tyre? 

For  I  have  dreamed  of  a  youngling  kid  new-riven  from  the 
byre. 

For  I  have  dreamed  of  a  midnight  sky  and  a  midnight  call  to 
blood 

And  red-mouthed  shadows  racing  by,  that  thrust  me  from  my 
food. 

'Tis  an  hour  yet  and  an  hour  yet  to  the  rising  of  the  moon, 

But  I  can  see  the  black  roof-tree  as  plain  as  it  were  noon. 

'Tis  a  league  and  a  league  to  the  Lena  Falls  where  the  troop- 
ing blackbuck  go; 

But  I  can  hear  the  little  fawn  that  bleats  behind  the  doe. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885^1918  703 

Tis  a  league  and  a  league  to  the  Lena  Falls  where  the  crop 

and  the  upland  meet, 
But  I  can  smell  the  wet  dawn-wind  that  wakes  the  sprouting 

wheat. 

Unbar  the  door,  I  may  not  bide,  but  I  must  out  and  see 
If  those  are  wolves  that  wait  outside  or  my  own  kin  to  me!" 


She  loosed  the  bar,  she  slid  the  bolt,  she  opened  the  door  anon, 
And  a  grey  bitch-wolf  came  out  of  the  dark  and  fawned  on 
the  Only  Son! 


MOWGLI'S  SONG  AGAINST  PEOPLE 

T  WILL  let  loose  against  you  the  fleet-footed  vines — 
I  will  call  in  the  Jungle  to  stamp  out  your  lines! 
The  roofs  shall  fade  before  it, 
The  house-beams  shall  fall. 
And  the  Karela^  the  bitter  Kare/a, 
Shall  cover  it  all! 

In  the  gates  of  these  your  councils  my  people  shall  sing, 
In  the  doors  of  these  your  garners  the  Bat-folk  shall  cling; 
And  the  snake  shall  be  your  watchman, 

By  a  hearthstone  unswept; 
For  the  Karela,  the  bitter  Kare/a, 
Shall  fruit  where  ye  slept! 

Ye  shall  not  see  my  strikers;  ye  shall  hear  them  and  guess; 
By  night,  before  the  moon-rise,  I  will  send  for  my  cess, 
And  the  wolf  shall  be  your  herdsman 

By  a  landmark  removed, 
For  the  Karela,  the  bitter  Karela, 
Shall  seed  where  ye  loved ! 

'A  wild  melon. 


704  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

I  will  reap  your  fields  before  you  at  the  hands  of  a  host; 
Ye  shall  glean  behind  my  reapers  for  the  bread  that  is  lost; 
And  the  deer  shall  be  your  oxen 

On  a  headland  un tilled, 
For  the  Kare/a,  the  bitter  Karela, 
Shall  leaf  where  ye  build ! 

I  have  untied  against  you  the  club-footed  vines — 
I  have  sent  in  the  Jungle  to  swamp  out  your  lines! 
The  trees — the  trees  are  on  you! 

The  house-beams  shall  fall, 
And  the  Kare/a,  the  bitter  Karelay 
Shall  cover  you  all! 


ROMULUS  AND  REMUS 

QH,  LITTLE  did  the  Wolf-Child  care- 
When  first  he  planned  his  home, 
What  city  should  arise  and  bear 
The  weight  and  state  of  Rome. 

A  shiftless,  westward-wandering  tramp, 

Checked  by  the  Tiber  flood, 
He  reared  a  wall  around  his  camp 

Of  uninspired  mud. 

But  when  his  brother  leaped  the  Wall 
And  mocked  its  height  and  make, 

He  guessed  the  future  of  it  all 
And  slew  him  for  its  sake. 

Swift  was  the  blow — swift  as  the  thought 

Which  showed  him  in  that  hour 
How  unbelief  may  bring  to  naught 
The  early  steps  of  Power. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  705 

Forseeing  Time's  imperilled  hopes 

Of  Glory,  Grace,  and  Love — 
All  singers,  Caesars,  artists,  Popes — 

Would  fail  if  Remus  throve, 

He  sent  his  brother  to  the  Gods, 

And,  when  the  fit  was  o'er, 
Went  on  collecting  turves  and  clods 

To  build  the  Wall  once  more! 


CHAPTER  HEADINGS 
THE  JUNGLE  BOOKS 

the  Kite  brings  home  the  night 
That  Mang  the  Bat  sets  free — 
The  herds  are  shut  in  byre  and  hut 

For  loosed  till  dawn  are  we. 
This  is  the  hour  of  pride  and  power, 

Talon  and  tush  and  claw. 
Oh  hear  the  call! — Good  hunting  all 
That  keep  the  Jungle  Law! 

Mowglis  Brothers. 

His  spots  are  the  joy  of  the  Leopard:  his  horns  are  the  Buf- 
falo's pride. 

Be  clean,  for  the  strength  of  the  hunter  is  known  by  the  gloss 
of  his  hide. 

If  ye  find  that  the  bullock  can  toss  you,  or  the  heavy-browed 
Sambhur  can  gore; 

Ye  need  not  stop  work  to  inform  us.  We  knew  it  ten  seasons 
before. 

Oppress  not  the  cubs  of  the  stranger,  but  hail  them  as  Sister 
and  Brother, 

For  though  they  are  little  and  fubsy,  it  may  be  the  Bear  is 
their  mother. 


706  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"There  is  none  like  to  me!"  says  the  Cub  in  the  pride  of  his 

earliest  kill; 
But  the  Jungle  is  large  and  the  Cub  he  is  small.     Let  him 

think  and  be  still. 

Kaa's  Hunting. 

The  stream  is  shrunk — the  pool  is  dry, 
And  we  be  comrades,  thou  and  I; 
With  fevered  jowl  and  dusty  flank 
Each  jostling  each  along  the  bank; 
And,  by  one  drouthy  fear  made  stil-1, 
Foregoing  thought  of  quest  or  kill. 
Now  'neath  his  dam  the  fawn  may  see, 
The  lean  Pack-wolf  as  cowed  as  he, 
And  the  tall  buck,  unflinching,  note 
The  fangs  that  tore  his  father's  throat. 
The  pools  are  shrunk — the  streams  are  dryy 
And  we  be  playmates,  thou  and  I, 
Till  yonder  cloud — Good  Hunting! — loose 
The  rain  that  breaks  our  Water  Truce. 

How  Fear  Came. 


What  of  the  hunting,  hunter  bold? 

Brother,  the  watch  was  long  and  cold. 
What  of  the  quarry  ye  went  to  kill  ? 

Brother,  he  crops  in  the  jungle  still. 
Where  is  the  power  that  made  your  pride? 

Brother,  it  ebbs  from  my  flank  and  side. 
Where  is  the  haste  that  ye  hurry  by? 

Brother,  I  go  to  my  lair  to  die! 

"Tiger-Tiger!" 

Veil  them,  cover  them,  wall  them  round — 
Blossom,  and  creeper,  and  weed — 

Let  us  forget  the  sight  and  the  sound, 
The  smell  and  the  touch  of  the  breed! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  707 

Fat  black  ash  by  the  altar-stone, 

Here  is  the  white-foot  rain, 
And  the  does  bring  forth  in  the  fields  unsown, 

And  none  shall  affright  them  again; 
And  the  blind  walls  crumble,  unknown,  o'erthrown, 

And  none  shall  inhabit  again! 

Letting  in  the  Jungle. 


These  are  the  Four  that  are  never  content,  that  have  never 

been  filled  since  the  Dews  began — 
Jacala's  mouth,  and  the  glut  of  the  Kite,  and  the  hands  of 

the  Ape,  and  the  Eyes  of  Man. 

The  Kings  Ankus. 


For  our  white  and  our  excellent  nights — for  the  nights  of 

swift  running, 

Fair  ranging,  far-seeing,  good  hunting,  sure  cunning! 
For  the  smells  of  the  dawning,  untainted,  ere  dew  has  de- 
parted! 

For  the  rush  through  the  mist,  and  the  quarry  blind-started! 
For  the  cry  of  our  mates  when  the  sambhur  has  wheeled  and 
is  standing  at  bay! 

For  the  risk  and  the  riot  of  night! 
For  the  sleep  at  the  lair-mouth  by  day! 
It  is  met,  and  we  go  to  the  fight. 
Bay!    O  bay! 

Red  Dog. 


Man  goes  to  Man!     Cry  the  challenge  through  the  Jungle! 

He  that  was  our  Brother  goes  away. 
Hear,  now,  and  judge,  O  ye  People  of  the  Jungle, — 

Answer,  who  can  turn  him — who  shall  stay? 


708  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Man  goes  to  Man !     He  is  weeping  in  the  Jungle : 

He  that  was  our  Brother  sorrows  sore ! 
Man  goes  to  Man !     (Oh,  we  loved  him  in  the  Jungle !) 

To  the  Man-Trail  where  we  may  not  follow  more. 

The  Spring  Running. 

At  the  hole  where  he  went  in 
Red-Eye  called  to  Wrinkle-Skin. 
Hear  what  little  Red-Eye  saith: 
"Nag,  come  up  and  dance  with  death!" 

Eye  to  eye  and  head  to  head, 

(Keep  the  measure,  Nag.) 
This  shall  end  when  one  is  dead; 

(At  thy  pleasure^  Nag.) 

Turn  for  turn  and  twist  for  twist — 

(Run  and  hide  thee,  Nag.) 
Hah!     The  hooded  Death  has  missed! 

(Woe  betide  thee,  Nag  !) 

"  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi." 

Oh!  "hush  thee,  my  baby,  the  night  is  behind  us, 

And  black  are  the  waters  that  sparkled  so  green. 
The  moon,  o'er  the  combers,  looks  downward  to  find  us 

At  rest  in  the  hollows  that  rustle  between. 
Where  billow  meets  billow,  then  soft  be  thy  pillow; 

Ah,  weary  wee  flipperling,  curl  at  thy  ease! 
The  storm  shall  not  wake  thee,  nor  shark  overtake  thee, 

Asleep  in  the  arms  of  the  slow-swinging  seas. 

The  White  Seal. 


You  mustn't  swim  till  you're  six  weeks  old, 
Or  your  head  will  be  sunk  by  your  heels; 

And  summer  gales  and  Killer  Whales 
Are  bad  for  baby  seals. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  709 

Are  bad  for  baby  seals,  dear  rat. 

As  bad  as  bad  can  be; 
But  splash  and  grow  strong, 
And  you  can't  be  wrong, 

Child  of  the  Open  Sea! 

The  White  Seal. 


I  will  remember  what  I  was,  I  am  sick  of  rope  and  chain — 
I  will  remember  my  old  strength  and  all  my  forest-affairs. 

I  will  not  sell  my  back  to  man  for  a  bundle  of  sugar-cane. 
I  will  go  out  to  my  own  kind,  and  the  wood-folk  in  their 
lairs. 


I  will  go  out  until  the  day,  until  the  morning  break, 

Out  to  the  winds'  untainted  kiss,  the  waters'  clean  caress. 

I  will  forget  my  ankle-ring  and  snap  my  picket-stake. 
I  will  revisit  my  lost  loves,  and  playmates  masterless! 

Toomai  of  the  Elephants. 

The  People  of  the  Eastern  Ice,  they  are  melting  like  the 

snow — 
They  beg  for  coffee  and  sugar;  they  go  where  the  white  men 

g°- 

The  People  of  the  Western  Ice,  they  learn  to  steal  and  fight; 
They  sell  their  furs  to  the  trading-post;  they  sell  their  souls 

to  the  white. 
The  People  of  the  Southern  Ice,  they  trade  with  the  whaler's 

crew; 
Their  women  have  many  ribbons,  but  their  tents  are  torn 

and  few. 
But  the  People  of  the  Elder  Ice,  beyond  the  white  man's 

ken — 
Their  spears  are  made  of  the  narwhal-horn,  and  they  are  the 

last  of  the  Men ! 

Quiquern. 


7io  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

When  ye  say  to  Tabaqui,  "My  Brother!"  when  ye  call  the 

Hyena  to  meat, 
Ye  may  cry  the  Full  Truce  with  Jacala — the  Belly  that  runs 

on  four  feet. 

The  Undertakers. 


The  night  we  felt  the  earth  would  move 
We  stole  and  plucked  him  by  the  hand, 

Because  we  loved  him  with  the  love 
That  knows  but  cannot  understand. 

And  when  the  roaring  hillside  broke, 
And  all  our  world  fell  down  in  rain, 

We  saved  him,  we  the  Little  Folk; 
But  lo!  he  does  not  come  again! 

Mourn  now,  we  saved  him  for  the  sake 
Of  such  poor  love  as  wild  ones  may. 

Mourn  ye!     Our  brother  will  not  wake, 
And  his  own  kind  drive  us  away! 

The  Miracle  of  Purun  Bhagat. 


THE  EGG-SHELL 

'T^HE  wind  took  off  with  the  sunset — 

The  fog  came  up  with  the  tide, 
When  the  Witch  of  the  North  took  an  Egg-shell 
With  a  little  Blue  Devil  inside. 
"Sink,"  she  said,  "or  swim,"  she  said, 
"It's  all  you  will  get  from  me. 
And  that  is  the  finish  of  him!"  she  said, 
And  the  Egg-shell  went  to  sea. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  711 

The  wind  fell  dead  with  the  midnight—- 
The fog  shut  down  like  a  sheet, 
When  the  Witch  of  the  North  heard  the  Egg-shell 
Feeling  by  hand  for  a  fleet. 
" Get!"  she  said,  "or  you're  gone,"  she  said, 
But  the  little  Blue  Devil  said  "No!" 
"The  sights  are  just  coming  on,"  he  said, 
And  he  let  the  Whitehead  go. 

The  wind  got  up  with  the  morning — 

The  fog  blew  off  with  the  rain, 

When  the  Witch  of  the  North  saw  the  Egg-shell 

And  the  little  Blue  Devil  again. 

"  Did  you  swim  ? "  she  said.     "  Did  you  sink  ? "  she  said, 

And  the  little  Blue  Devil  replied: 

"  For  myself  I  swam,  but  I  think,"  he  said, 

"There's  somebody  sinking  outside." 


"THE  TRADE" 

1914-1918 

*"pHEY  bear,  in  place  of  classic  names, 
Letters  and  numbers  on  their  skin. 
They  play  their  grisly  blindfold  games 

In  little  boxes  made  of  tin. 

Sometimes  they  stalk  the  Zeppelin, 
Sometimes  they  learn  where  mines  are  laid 

Or  where  the  Baltic  ice  is  thin. 
That  is  the  custom  of  "The  Trade." 

Few  prize-courts  sit  upon  their  claims. 

They  seldom  tow  their  targets  in. 
They  follow  certain  secret  aims 

Down  under,  far  from  strife  or  din. 


712  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

When  they  are  ready  to  begin 
No  flag  is  flown,  no  fuss  is  made 

More  than  the  shearing  of  a  pin. 
That  is  the  custom  of  "The  Trade." 

The  Scout's  quadruple  funnel  flames 

A  mark  from  Sweden  to  the  Swin, 
The  Cruiser's  thundrous  screw  proclaims 

Her  comings  out  and  goings  in: 

But  only  whiffs  of  paraffin 
Or  creamy  rings  that  fizz  and  fade 

Show  where  the  one-eyed  Death  has  been. 
That  is  the  custom  of  "The  Trade." 

Their  feats,  their  fortunes  and  their  fames 
Are  hidden  from  their  nearest  kin; 

No  eager  public  backs  or  blames, 

No  journal  prints  the  yarns  they  spin 
(The  Censor  would  not  let  it  in!) 

When  they  return  from  run  or  raid. 
Unheard  they  work,  unseen  they  win. 

That  is  the  custom  of  "The  Trade." 


THE  KING'S  TASK 

1902 

A  FTER  the  sack  of  the  City  when  Rome  was  sunk  to  a 

name 
In  the  years  that  the  lights  were  darkened,  or  ever  St.  Wilfrid 

came 

Low  on  the  borders  of  Britain  (the  ancient  poets  sing) 
Between  the  Cliff  and  the  Forest  there  ruled  a  Saxon  King. 
Stubborn  all  were  his  people  from  cottar  to  overlord — 
Not  to  be  cowed  by  the  cudgel,  scarce  to  be  schooled  by  the 

sword; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  713 

Quick  to  turn  at  their  pleasure,  cruel  to  cross  in  their  mood, 

And  set  on  paths  of  their  choosing  as  the  hogs  of  Andred's 
Wood. 

Laws  they  made  in  the  Witan — the  laws  of  flaying  and  fine — 

Common,  loppage  and  pannage,  the  theft  and  the  track  of 
kine — 

Statutes  of  tun  and  of  market  for  the  fish  and  the  malt  and 
the  meal — 

The  tax  on  the  Bramber  packhorse  and  the  tax  on  the  Hast- 
ings keel. 

Over  the  graves  of  the  Druids  and  under  the  wreck  of  Rome 

Rudely  but  surely  they  bedded  the  plinth  of  the  days  to  come. 

Behind  the  feet  of  the  Legions  and  before  the  Norseman's  ire 

Rudely  but  greatly  begat  they  the  framing  of  State  and  Shire. 

Rudely  but  deeply  they  laboured,  and  their  labour  stands  till 
now, 

If  we  trace  on  our  ancient  headlands  the  twist  of  their  eight- 
ox  plough.  .  .  . 

There  came  a  king  from  Hamtun,  by  Bosenham  he  came, 

He  filled  Use  with  slaughter,  and  Lewes  he  gave  to  flame. 

He  smote  while  they  sat  in  the  Witan — sudden  he  smote  and 
sore, 

That  his  fleet  was  gathered  at  Selsea  ere  they  mustered  at 
Cymen's  Ore. 

Blithe  went  the  Saxons  to  battle,  by  down  and  wood  and 
mere, 

But  thrice  the  acorns  ripened  ere  the  western  mark  was  clear. 

Thrice  was  the  beechmast  gathered,  and  the  Beltane  fires 
burned 

Thrice,  and  the  beeves  were  salted  thrice  ere  the  host  returned 

They  drove  that  king  from  Hamtun,  by  Bosenham  o'er- 
thrown, 

Out  of  Rugnor  to  Wilton  they  made  his  land  their  own. 

Camps  they  builded  at  Gilling,  at  Basing  and  Alresford, 

But  wrath  abode  in  the  Saxons  from  cottar  to  overlord. 

Wrath  at  the  weary  war-game,  at  the  foe  that  snapped  and 
ran 


7i4  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Wolf-wise  feigning  and  flying,  and  wolf-wise  snatching  his 

man. 
Wrath  for  their  spears  unready,  their  levies  new  to  the 

blades — 

Shame  for  the  helpless  sieges  and  the  scornful  ambuscades. 
At  hearth  and  tavern  and  market,  wherever  the  tale  was 

told, 

Shame  and  wrath  had  the  Saxons  because  of  their  boasts  of  old. 
And  some  would  drink  and  deny  it,  and  some  would  pray  and 

atone; 
But  the  most  part,  after  their  anger,  avouched  that  the  sin 

was  their  own. 

Wherefore,  girding  together,  up  to  the  Witan  they  came, 
And  as  they  had  shouldered  their  bucklers  so  did  they  shoul- 
der their  blame. 

For  that  was  the  wont  of  the  Saxons  (the  ancient  poets  sing), 
And  first  they  spoke  in  the  Witan  and  then  they  spoke  to  the 

King: 

"Edward  King  of  the  Saxons,  thou  knowest  from  sire  to  son, 
"One  is  the  King  and  his  People — in  gain  and  ungain  one. 
"Count  we  the  gain  together.     With  doublings  and  spread 

dismays 

"We  have  broken  a  foolish  people — but  after  many  days. 
"Count  we  the  loss  together.     Warlocks  hampered  our  arms 
"We  were  tricked  as  by  magic,  we  were  turned  as  by  charms. 
"We  went  down  to  the  battle  and  the  road  was  plain  to  keep 
"But  our  angry  eyes  were  holden,  and  we  struck  as  they 

strike  in  sleep — 

"Men  new  shaken  from  slumber,  sweating,  with  eyes  a-stare 
"Little  blows  and  uncertain  dealt  on  the  useless  air. 
"Also  a  vision  betrayed  us  and  a  lying  tale  made  bold 
"That  we  looked  to  hold  what  we  had  not  and  to  have  what 

we  did  not  hold: 
"That  a  shield  should  give  us  shelter — that  a  sword  should 

give  us  power — 
"A  shield  snatched  up  at  a  venture  and  a  hilt  scarce  handled 

an  hour: 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  715 

"That  being  rich  in  the  open,  we  should  be  strong  in  the 

close — 
"And  the  Gods  would  sell  us  a  cunning  for  the  day  that  we 

met  our  foes. 
"This  was  the  work  of  wizards,  but  not  with  our  foe  they 

bide, 
"In  our  own  camp  we  took  them,  and  their  names  are  Sloth 

and  Pride. 
"Our  pride  was  before  the  battle:  our  sloth  ere  we  lifted 

spear, 
"  But  hid  in  the  heart  of  the  people  as  the  fever  hides  in  the 

mere, 

"Waiting  only  the  war-game,  the  heat  of  the  strife  to  rise 
"As  the  ague  fumes  round  Oxeney  when  the  rotting  reed-bed 

dries. 
"But  now  we  are  purged  of  that  fever — cleansed  by  the 

letting  of  blood, 

"Something  leaner  of  body — something  keener  of  mood. 
"And  the  men  new-freed  from  the  levies  return  to  the  fields 

again, 

"Matching  a  hundred  battles,  cottar  and  lord  and  thane. 
"And  they  talk  loud  in  the  temples  where  the  ancient  war- 
gods  are. 
"They  thumb  and  mock  and  belittle  the  holy  harness  of 

war. 
"They  jest  at  the  sacred  chariots,  the  robes  and  the  gilded 

staff. 
"These  things  fill  them  with  laughter,  they  lean  on  their 

spears  and  laugh. 
"The  men  grown  old  in  the  war-game,  hither  and  thither  they 

range— 
"And  scorn   and  laughter  together   are   sire   and   dam   of 

change; 
"And  change  may  be  good  or  evil — but  we  know  not  what  it 

will  bring 
"Therefore  our  King  must  teach  us.     That  is  thy  task,  O 

King!" 


7i6  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

POSEIDON'S  LAW 

\\7HEN  the  robust  and  Brass-bound  Man  commissioned 

first  for  sea 

His  fragile  raft,  Poseidon  laughed,  and  "Mariner,"  said  he, 
"Behold,  a  Law  immutable  I  lay  on  thee  and  thine, 
That  never  shall  ye  act  or  tell  a  falsehood  at  my  shrine. 

"Let  Zeus  adjudge  your  landward  kin  whose  votive  meal  and 

salt 

At  easy-cheated  altars  win  oblivion  for  the  fault, 
But  you  the  unhoodwinked  wave  shall  test — the  immediate 

gulf  condemn — 
Except  ye  owe  the  Fates  a  jest,  be  slow  to  jest  with  them. 

"Ye  shall  not  clear  by  Greekly  speech,  nor  cozen  from  your 
path 

The  twinkling  shoal,  the  leeward  beach,  or  Hadria's  white- 
lipped  wrath; 

Nor  tempt  with  painted  cloth  for  wood  my  fraud-avenging 
hosts; 

Nor  make  at  all,  or  all  make  good,  your  bulwarks  and  your 
boasts. 

"Now  and  henceforward  serve  unshod,   through  wet  and 

wakeful  shifts, 

A  present  and  oppressive  God,  but  take,  to  aid,  my  gifts — 
The  wide  and  windward-opening  eye,  the  large  and  lavish 

hand, 
The  soul  that  cannot  tell  a  lie — except  upon  the  land!" 

In   dromond    and   in   catafract — wet,   wakeful,   windward- 
eyed — 
He  kept  Poseidon's  Law  intact  (his  ship  and  freight  beside), 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  717 

But,  once  discharged  the  dromond's  hold,  the  bireme  beached 

once  more, 
Splendaciously   mendacious    rolled    the    Brass-bound    Man 

ashore. 

The  thranite  now  and  thalamite  are  pressures  low  and  high, 
And  where  three  hundred  blades  bit  white  the  twin-propellers 

ply. 
The  God  that  hailed,  the  keel  that  sailed,  are  changed  beyond 

recall, 
But  the  robust  and  Brass-bound  Man  he  is  not  changed  at  all ! 

From  Punt  returned,  from  Phormio's  Fleet,  from  Javan  and 

Gadire, 

He  strongly  occupies  the  seat  about  the  tavern  fire, 
And,  moist  with  much  Falernian  or  smoked  Massilian  juice, 
Revenges  there  the  Brass-bound  Man  his  long-enforced  truce! 


THE  LOWESTOFT  BOAT 

(East  Coast  Patrols) 
1914-18 

JN  LOWESTOFT  a  boat  was  laid, 

Mark  well  what  I  do  say! 
And  she  was  built  for  the  herring  trade, 

But  she  has  gone  a-rovin',  a-rovin',  a-rovin', 

The  Lord  knows  where! 

They  gave  her  Government  coal  to  burn, 
And  a  Q.  F.  gun  at  bow  and  stern, 
And  sent  her  out  a-rovin',  etc. 

Her  skipper  was  mate  of  a  bucko  ship 
Which  always  killed  one  man  per  trip, 
So  he  is  used  to  rovin',  etc. 


7i8  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Her  mate  was  skipper  of  a  chapel  in  Wales, 
And  so  he  fights  in  topper  and  tails — 
Religi-ous  tho'  rovin',  etc. 

Her  engineer  is  fifty-eight, 

So  his  prepared  to  meet  his  fate, 

Which  ain't  unlikely  rovin',  etc. 

Her  leading-stoker's  seventeen, 

So  he  don't  know  what  the  Judgments  mean, 

Unless  he  cops  'em  rovin*,  etc. 

Her  cook  was  chef  in  the  Lost  Dogs'  Home, 

Mark  well  what  I  do  say! 
And  I'm  sorry  for  Fritz  when  they  all  come 

A-rovin',  a-rovin',  a-roarin'  and  a-rovin', 

Round  the  North  Sea  rovin', 

The  Lord  knows  where! 


A  TRUTHFUL  SONG 

pHE  BRICKLAYER: 
I  tell  this  tale,  which  is  strictly  true. 
Just  by  way  of  convincing  you 
How  very  little,  since  things  were  made, 
Things  have  altered  in  the  building  trade. 

A  year  ago,  come  the  middle  of  March, 
We  was  building  flats  near  the  Marble  Arch, 
When  a  thin  young  man  with  coal-black  hair 
Came  up  to  watch  us  working  there. 

Now  there  wasn't  a  trick  in  brick  or  stone 
Which  this  young  man  hadn't  seen  or  known; 
Nor  there  wasn't  a  tool  from  trowel  to  maul 
But  this  young  man  could  use  'em  all ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  719 

Then  up  and  spoke  the  plumbyers  bold, 

Which  was  laying  the  pipes  for  the  hot  and  cold; 

"Since  you  with  us  have  made  so  free, 

Will  you  kindly  say  what  your  name  might  be?" 

The  young  man  kindly  answered  them; 
"It  might  be  Lot  or  Methusalem, 
Or  it  might  be  Moses  (a  man  I  hate) 
Whereas  it  is  Pharaoh  surnamed  the  Great. 

"Your  glazing  is  new  and  your  plumbing's  strange, 

But  otherwise  I  perceive  no  change; 

And  in  less  than  a  month  if  you  do  as  I  bid 

I'd  learn  you  to  build  me  a  Pyramid!" 

THE  SAILOR: 

/  tell  this  tale>  which  is  stricter  truey 
Just  by  way  of  convincing  you 
How  very  little,  since  things  was  made, 
Things  have  altered  in  the  shipwright's  trade. 

In  Blackwall  Basin  yesterday 

A  China  barque  re-fitting  lay; 

When  a  fat  old  man  with  snow-white  hair 

Came  up  to  watch  us  working  there. 

Now  there  wasn't  a  knot  which  the  riggers  knew 
But  the  old  man  made  it — and  better  too; 
Nor  there  wasn't  a  sheet,  or  a  lift,  or  a  brace, 
But  the  old  man  knew  its  lead  and  place. 

Then  up  and  spoke  the  caulkyers  bold, 
WThich  was  packing  the  pump  in  the  afterhold: 
"Since  you  with  us  have  made  so  free, 
W7ill  you  kindly  tell  what  your  name  might  be?" 


720  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  old  man  kindly  answered  them: 

"It  might  be  Japheth,  it  might  be  Shem, 

Or  it  might  be  Ham  (though  his  skin  was  dark), 

Whereas  it  is  Noah,  commanding  the  Ark. 

"Your  wheel  is  new  and  your  pumps  are  strange, 
But  otherwise  I  perceive  no  change; 
And  in  less  than  a  week,  if  she  did  not  ground, 
I'd  sail  this  hooker  the  wide  world  round!" 

BOTH  : 

We  tell  these  tales ,  which  are  strictest  true. 
Just  by  way  of  convincing  you 
How  very  little,  since  things  was  made, 
Anything  alters  in  any  one's  trade  ! 


A   SMUGGLER'S   SONG 

JF  YOU  wake  at  midnight,  and  hear  a  horse's  feet, 

Don't  go  drawing  back  the  blind,  or  looking  in  the  street. 
Them  that  ask  no  questions  isn't  told  a  lie. 
Watch  the  wall,  my  darling,  while  the  Gentlemen  go  by! 

Five  and  twenty  ponies, 

Trotting  through  the  dark — 

Brandy  for  the  Parson, 

'Baccy  for  the  Clerk; 

Laces  for  a  lady,  letters  for  a  spy, 
And  watch  the  wall,  my  darling,  while  the  Gentlemen  go  by! 

Running  round  the  woodlump  if  you  chance  to  find 
Little  barrels,  roped  and  tarred,  all  full  of  brandy-wine, 
Don't  you  shout  to  come  and  look,  nor  use  'em  for  your  play. 
Put  the  brishwood  back  again — and  they'll  be  gone  next  day! 


INCLUSIVE   EDITION,   1885-1918  721 

If  you  see  the  stable-door  setting  open  wide; 

If  you  see  a  tired  horse  lying  down  inside; 

If  your  mother  mends  a  coat  cut  about  and  tore; 

If  the  lining's  wet  and  warm — don't  you  ask  no  more! 

If  you  meet  King  George's  men,  dressed  in  blue  and  red, 

You  be  careful  what  you  say,  and  mindful  what  is  said. 

If  they  call  you  "pretty  maid,"  and  chuck  you  'neath  the 

chin, 
Don't  you  tell  where  no  one  is,  nor  yet  where  no  one's  been! 

Knocks  and  footsteps  round  the  house — whistles  after  dark — 
You've  no  call  for  running  out  till  the  house-dogs  bark. 
Trusty's  here,  and  Pinchers  here,  and  see  how  dumb  they 

lie— 
They  don't  fret  to  follow  when  the  Gentlemen  go  by! 

If  you  do  as  you've  been  told,  'likely  there's  a  chance, 
You'll  be  give  a  dainty  doll,  all  the  way  from  France, 
With  a  cap  of  Valenciennes,  and  a  velvet  hood — 
A  present  from  the  Gentlemen,  along  o'  being  good! 

Five  and  twenty  ponies, 

Trotting  through  the  dark — 

Brandy  for  the  Parson, 

'Baccy  for  the  Clerk. 

Them  that  asks  no  questions  isn't  told  a  lie — 
Watch  the  wall,  my  darling,  while  the  Gentlemen  go  by! 


KING  HENRY  VII  AND  THE  SHIPWRIGHTS 

(A.  D.  1487) 

T-IARRY,  our  King  in   England,   from   London   town   is 

gone, 
And  comen  to  Hamull  on  the  Hoke  in  the  Countie  of  Suth- 

ampton. 


722  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

For  there  lay  the  Mary  of  the  Tower ;  his  ship  of  war  so  strong, 
And  he  would  discover,  certaynely,  if  his  shipwrights  did  him 
wrong. 

He  told  not  none  of  his  setting  forth,  nor  yet  where  he  would 

g°> 

(But  only  my  Lord  of  Arundel)  and  meanly  did  he  show, 
In  an  old  jerkin  and  patched  hose  that  no  man  might  him 

mark. 
With  his  frieze  hood  and  cloak  above,  he  looked  like  any  clerk. 

He  was  at  Hamull  on  the  Hoke  about  the  hour  of  the  tide, 
And  saw  the  Mary  haled  into  dock,  the  winter  to  abide, 
With  all  her  tackle  and  habilaments  which  are  the  King  his 

own; 
But  then  ran  on  his  false  shipwrights  and  stripped  her  to  the 

bone. 

They  heaved  the  main-mast  overboard,  that  was  of  a  trusty 

tree, 
And  they  wrote  down  it  was  spent  and  lost  by  force  of  weather 

at  sea. 

But  they  sawen  it  into  planks  and  strakes  as  far  as  it  might  go, 
To  maken  beds  for  their  own  wives  and  little  children  also. 

There  was  a  knave  called  Slingawai,  he  crope  beneath  the 

deck, 
Crying:     "Good  felawes,  come  and  see!     The  ship  is  nigh  a 

wreck! 
For  the  storm  that  took  our  tall  main-mast,  it  blew  so  fierce 

and  fell, 
Alack!  it  hath  taken  the  kettles  and  pans,  and  this  brass  pott 

as  well!" 

With  that  he  set  the  pott  on  his  head  and  hied  him  up  the 

hatch, 
While  all  the  shipwrights  ran  below  to  find  what  they  might 

snatch; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  723 

All  except  Bob  Brygandync  ami  he  was  a  yeoman  good, 
He  caught  Slingawai  round  the  waist  and  threw  him  on  to  the 
mud. 

"I  have  taken  plank  and  rope  and  nail,  without  the  King  his 

leave, 

After  the  custom  of  Portesmouth,  but  I  will  not  suffer  a  thief. 
Nay,  never  lift  up  thy  hand  at  me — there's  no  clean  hands 

in  the  trade. 
Steal  in  measure,"  quo'  Brygandyne.     "There's  measure  in 

all  things  made!" 

"Gramercy,  yeoman!"  said  our  King.     "Thy  council  liketh 

me." 
And  he  pulled  a  whistle  out  of  his  neck  and  whistled  whistles 

three. 

Then  came  my  Lord  of  Arundel  pricking  across  the  down, 
And  behind  him  the  Mayor  and  Burgesses  of  merry  Suthamp- 

ton  town. 


They  drew  the  naughty  shipwrights  up,  with  the  kettles  in 

their  hands, 
And  bound  them  round  the  forecastle  to  wait  the  King's 

commands. 
But  "Sith  ye  have  made  your  beds,"  said  the  King,  "ye 

needs  must  lie  thereon. 
For  the  sake  of  your  wives  and  little  ones — felawes,  get  you 

gone!" 

When  they  had  beaten  Slingawai,  out  of  his  own  lips 

Our  King  appointed  Brygandyne  to  be  Clerk  of  all  his  ships. 

"  Nay,  never  lift  up  thy  hands  to  me — there's  no  clean  hands 

in  the  trade. 
But  steal  in   measure,"   said  Harry  our   King.     "There's 

measure  in  all  things  made!" 


?24  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

God  speed  the  Mary  of  the  Tower,  the  Sovereign,  and  Grace 

Dieu, 
The  Sweepstakes  and  the  Mary   Fortune,  and  the  Henry 

of  Bristol  too  ! 

All  tall  ships  that  sail  on  the  sea,  or  in  our  harbours  stand, 
That  they  may  keep  measure  with  Harry  our  King  and  peace  in 

Engeland! 


THE  WET  LITANY 

\\/"HEN  the  water's  countenance 

Blurrs  'twixt  glance  and  second  glance; 
Then  our  tattered  smokes  forerun 
Ashen  'neath  a  silvered  sun; 
When  the  curtain  of  the  haze 
Shuts  upon  our  helpless  ways — 

Hear  the  Channel  Fleet  at  sea: 

Libera  nos  Domine  ! 


When  the  engines'  bated  pulse 
Scarcely  thrills  the  nosing  hulls; 
When  the  wash  along  the  side 
Sounds,  a-sudden,  magnified; 
When  the  intolerable  blast 
Marks  each  blindfold  minute  passed; 

When  the  fog-buoy's  squattering  flight 
Guides  us  through  the  haggard  night; 
Wrhen  the  warning  bugle  blows; 
When  the  lettered  doorways  close; 
When  our  brittle  townships  press, 
Impotent,  on  emptiness; 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  725 

When  the  unseen  leadsmen  lean 
Questioning  a  deep  unseen; 
When  their  lessened  count  they  tell 
To  a  bridge  invisible; 
When  the  hid  and  perilous 
Cliffs  return  our  cry  to  us; 

When  the  treble  thickness  spread 
Swallows  up  our  next-ahead; 
WThen  her  siren's  frightened  whine 
Shows  her  sheering  out  of  line; 
When — her  passage  undiscerned — 
We  must  turn  where  she  has  turned, 

Hear  the  Channel  Fleet  at  sea: 

Libera  nos  Domine  ! 


THE  BALLAD  OF  MINEPIT  SHAW 

A  BOUT  the  time  that  taverns  shut 

And  men  can  buy  no  beer, 
Two  lads  went  up  to  the  keepers'  hut 
To  steal  Lord  Pelham's  deer. 

Night  and  the  liquor  was  in  their  heads — 
They  laughed  and  talked  no  bounds, 

Till  they  waked  the  keepers  on  their  beds 
And  the  keepers  loosed  the  hounds. 

They  had  killed  a  hart,  they  had  killed  a  hind, 

Ready  to  carry  away,. 
When  they  heard  a  whimper  down  the  wind 

And  they  heard  a  bloodhound  bay. 


726  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  took  and  ran  across  the  fern, 
Their  crossbows  in  their  hand, 

Till  they  met  a  man  with  a  green  lantern 
That  called  and  bade  'em  stand. 

"What  are  ye  doing,  O  Flesh  and  Blood, 
And  what's  your  foolish  will, 

That  you  must  break  into  Minepit  Wood 
And  wake  the  Folk  of  the  Hill?" 


"Oh,  we've  broke  into  Lord  Pelham's  park, 
And  killed  Lord  Pelham's  deer, 

And  if  ever  you  heard  a  little  dog  bark 
You'll  know  why  we  come  here. 

"We  ask  you  let  us  go  our  way, 

As  fast  as  we  can  flee, 
For  if  ever  you  heard  a  bloodhound  bay 

You'll  know  how  pressed  we  be." 

"Oh,  lay  your  crossbows  on  the  bank 
And  drop  the  knife  from  your  hand, 

And  though  the  hounds  are  at  your  flank 
I'll  save  you  where  you  stand!" 


They  laid  their  crossbows  on  the  bank, 
They  threw  their  knives  in  the  wood, 

And  the  ground  before  them  opened  and  sank 
And  saved  'em  where  they  stood. 

"Oh,  what's  the  roaring  in  our  ears 
That  strikes  us  well-nigh  dumb?" 

"Oh,  that  is  just  how  things  appears 
According  as  they  come." 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  727 

"What  are  the  stars  before  our  eyes 

That  strike  us  well-nigh  blind?" 
"Oh,  that  is  just  how  things  arise 

According  as  you  find." 

"  And  why's  our  bed  so  hard  to  the  bones 

Excepting  where  it's  cold?" 
"Oh,  that's  because  it  is  precious  stones 

Excepting  where  'tis  gold. 

"Think  it  over  as  you  stand, 

For  I  tell  you  without  fail, 
If  you  haven't  got  into  Fairyland 

You're  not  in  Lewes  Gaol." 

All  night  long  they  thought  of  it, 

And,  come  the  dawn,  they  saw 
They'd  tumbled  into  a  great  old  pit, 

At  the  bottom  of  Minepit  Shaw. 

And  the  keeper's  hound  had  followed  'em  close, 

And  broke  her  neck  in  the  fall; 
So  they  picked  up  their  knives  and  their  crossbows 

And  buried  the  dog.     That's  all. 

But  whether  the  man  was  a  poacher  too 

Or  a  Pharisee1  so  bold — 
I  reckon  there's  more-things  told  than  are  true, 

And  more  things  true  than  are  told! 


HERIOT'S  FORD 

V\7"HAT'S  that  that  hirples  at  my  side?" 

The  Joe  that  you  must  fight,  my  lord. 
"That  rides  as  fast  as  I  can  ride?" 
The  shadow  of  your  might,  my  lord. 
*A  fairy. 


728  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"Then  wheel  my  horse  against  the  foe!" 
He's  down  and  overpast,  my  lord. 
You  war  against  the  sunset-glow, 
The  judgment  follows  fast,  my  lord  ! 

"Oh  who  will  stay  the  sun's  descent?" 
King  Joshua  he  is  dead,  my  lord. 
"I  need  an  hour  to  repent!" 
'Tis  what  our  sister  said,  my  lord. 

"Oh  do  not  slay  me  in  my  sins!" 
You're  safe  awhile  with  us,  my  lord. 
"Nay,  kill  me  ere  my  fear  begins!" 
We  would  not  serve  you  thus,  my  lord. 

"Where  is  the  doom  that  I  must  face?" 
Three  little  leagues  away,  my  lord. 
"Then  mend  the  horses'  laggard  pace!" 
We  need  them  for  next  day,  my  lord. 

"Next  day — next  day!     Unloose  my  cords!" 
Our  sister  needed  none,  my  lord. 
You  had  no  mind  to  face  our  swords, 
And — where  can  cowards  run,  my  lord  ? 


"You  would  not  kill  the  soul  alive?" 
'Twas  thus  our  sister  cried,  my  lord. 
"I  dare  not  die  with  none  to  shrive." 
But  so  our  sister  died,  my  lord. 

"Then  wipe  the  sweat  from  brow  and  cheek. 
//  runnels  forth  afresh,  my  lord. 
"Uphold  me — for  the  flesh  is  weak." 
You  've  finished  with  the  Flesh,  my  lord! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  729 


FRANKIE'S  TRADE 

/~)LD  Horn  to  All  Atlantic  said: 

(A-hay  0  !     To  me  0  /) 
"Now  where  did  Frankie  learn  his  trade? 
For  he  ran  me  down  with  a  three-reef  mains'le." 
(All  round  the  Horn  /) 


Atlantic  answered: — "Not  from  me! 
You'd  better  ask  the  cold  North  Sea, 
For  he  ran  me  down  under  all  plain  canvas." 
(All  round  the  Horn  /) 


The  North  Sea  answered: — "He's  my  man, 
For  he  came  to  me  when  he  began — 
Frankie  Drake  in  an  open  coaster. 
(All  round  the  Sands  /) 


"I  caught  him  young  and  I  used  him  sore, 
So  you  never  shall  startle  Frankie  more, 
Without  capsizing  Earth  and  her  waters. 
(All  round  the  Sands  /) 


"I  did  not  favour  him  at  all. 
I  made  him  pull  and  I  made  him  haul — 
And  stand  his  trick  with  the  common  sailors. 
(All  round  the  Sands  !) 


"I  froze  him  stiff  and  I  fogged  him  blind, 
And  kicked  him  home  with  his  road  to  find 
By  what  he  could  see  in  a  three-day  snow-storm. 
(All  round  the  Sands  /) 


730  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"I  learned  him  his  trade  o'  winter  nights, 

'Twixt  Mardyk  Fort  and  Dunkirk  lights 

On  a  five-knot  tide  with  the  forts  a-firing. 

(All  round  the  Sands  /) 

"Before  his  beard  began  to  shoot, 
I  showed  him  the  length  of  the  Spaniard's  foot — 
And  I  reckon  he  clapped  the  boot  on  it  later. 
(All  round  the  Sands  /) 

"If  there's  a  risk  which  you  can  make, 
That's  worse  than  he  was  used  to  take 
Nigh  every  week  in  the  way  of  his  business; 
(All  round  the  Sands  /) 

"If  there's  a  trick  that  you  can  try, 
Which  he  hasn't  met  in  time  gone  by, 
Not  once  or  twice,  but  ten  times  over; 
(All  round  the  Sands  /) 

"If  you  can  teach  him  aught  that's  new, 

(A-hayO!     To  me  0  /) 
I'll  give  you  Bruges  and  Niewport  too, 
And  the  ten  tall  churches  that  stand  between  'em!' 

Storm  along  my  gallant  Captains  ! 

(All  round  the  Horn  /) 


THE  JUGGLER'S  SONG 

\\7"HEN  the  drums  begin  to  beat 

Down  the  street, 

When  the  poles  are  fetched  and  guyed, 
When  the  tight-rope's  stretched  and  tied, 
When  the  dance-girls  make  salaam, 
When  the  snake-bag  wakes  alarm, 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  73 

When  the  pipes  set  up  their  drone, 
When  the  sharp-edged  knives  are  thrown, 
When  the  red-hot  coals  are  shown, 
To  be  swallowed  by-and-by — 
Arr'e,  Brethren,  here  come  I! 

Stripped  to  loin-cloth  in  the  sun, 
Search  me  well  and  watch  me  close! 
Tell  me  how  my  tricks  are  done — 
Tell  me  how  the  mango  grows? 

Give  a  man  who  is  not  made 

To  his  trade 

Swords  to  fling  and  catch  again, 

Coins  to  ring  and  snatch  again, 

Men  to  harm  and  cure  again, 

Snakes  to  charm  and  lure  again — 

He'll  be  hurt  by  his  own  blade, 

By  his  serpents  disobeyed, 

By  his  clumsiness  bewrayed, 

By  the  people  laughed  to  scorn — 

So  'tis  not  with  juggler  born! 

Pinch  of  dust  or  withered  flower, 
Chance-flung  nut  or  borrowed  staff, 
Serve  his  need  and  shore  his  power, 
Bind  the  spell  or  loose  the  laugh! 


THE   NORTH    SEA   PATROL 

1914-18 

"\\7HERE  the  East  wind  is  brewed  fresh  and  fresh  every 

morning, 

And  the  balmy  night-breezes  blow  straight  from  the  Pole, 
I  heard  a  Destroyer  sing:  "What  an  enjoyable  life  does  one 
lead  on  the  North  Sea  Patrol! 


732  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"To  blow  things  to  bits  is  our  business  (and  Fritz's), 
Which  means  there  are  mine-fields  wherever  you  stroll. 

Unless  you've  particular  wish  to  die  quick,  you'll  a- 
void  steering  close  to  the  North  Sea  Patrol. 

"We  warn  from  disaster  the  mercantile  master 
Who  takes  in  high  Dudgeon  our  life-saving  role, 

For  every  one's  grousing  at  Docking  and  Dowsing1 
The  marks  and  the  lights  on  the  North  Sea  Patrol." 

[Twelve  verses  omitted.} 

So  swept  but  surviving,  half  drowned  but  still  driving, 
I  watched  her  head  out  through  the  swell  off  the  shoal, 
And  I  heard  her  propellers  roar:    "Write  to  poor  fellers 
Who  run  such  a  Hell  as  the  North  Sea  Patrol  !" 


THORKILD'S  SONG 

HpHERE'S  no  wind  along  these  seas, 

Out  oars  for  Stavanger  ! 
Forward  all  for  Stavanger  ! 
So  we  must  wake  the  white-ash  breeze, 
Let  fall  for  Stavanger  ! 
A  long  pull  for  Stavanger  ! 

Oh,  hear  the  benches  creak  and  strain ! 
(A  long  pull  for  Stavanger  /) 
She  thinks  she  smells  the  Northland  rain! 
(A  long  pull  for  Stavanger  /) 

She  thinks  she  smells  the  Northland  snow, 
And  she's  as  glad  as  we  to  go. 

1  Shoals  and  lights  on  the  East  Coast. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,    1885-1918  733 

She  thinks  she  smells  the  Northland  rime, 
And  the  dear  dark  nights  of  winter-time. 

She  wants  to  be  at  her  own  home  pier, 
To  shift  her  sails  and  standing  gear. 

She  wants  to  be  in  her  winter-shed, 
To  strip  herself  and  go  to  bed. 


Her  very  bolts  are  sick  for  shore, 
And  we — we  want  it  ten  times  more! 


So  all  you  Gods  that  love  brave  men, 
Send  us  a  three-reef  gale  again! 

Send  us  a  gale,  and  watch  us  come, 
With  close-cropped  canvas  slashing  home! 

But — there's  no  wind  on  all  these  seas, 
A  long  pull  for  Stavanger  ! 
So  we  must  wake  the  white-ash  breeze, 
A  long  -pull for  Stavanger  ! 


"ANGUTIVAUN  TAINA" 

Song  of  the  Returning  Hunter  (Esquimaux). 

/~\UR  gloves  are  stiff  with  the  frozen  blood, 

Our  furs  with  the  drifted  snow, 
As  we  come  in  with  the  seal — the  seal! 
In  from  the  edge  of  the  floe. 


734  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Au  jana  I  Aua  I  Oha  I  Haq  ! 

And  the  yelping  dog-teams  go, 
And  the  long  whips  crack,  and  the  men  come  back, 

Back  from  the  edge  of  the  floe ! 

We  tracked  our  seal  to  his  secret  place, 

We  heard  him  scratch  below, 
We  made  our  mark,  and  we  watched  beside, 

Out  on  the  edge  of  the  floe. 

We  raised  our  lance  when  he  rose  to  breathe, 

We  drove  it  downward — so! 
And  we  played  him  thus,  and  we  killed  him  thus, 

Out  on  the  edge  of  the  floe. 

Our  gloves  are  glued  with  the  frozen  blood, 

Our  eyes  with  the  drifting  snow; 
But  we  come  back  to  our  wives  again, 

Back  from  the  edge  of  the  floe! 

Au  jana  !  Aua  !  Oha  I  Haq! 

And  the  loaded  dog-teams  go, 
And  the  wives  can  hear  their  men  come  back, 

Back  from  the  edge  of  the  floe  ! 


HUNTING-SONG  OF  THE  SEEONEE  PACK 

AS  THE  dawn  was  breaking  the  Sambhur  belled — 

Once,  twice  and  again! 
And  a  doe  leaped  up,  and  a  doe  leaped  up 
From  the  pond  in  the  wood  where  the  wild  deer  sup. 
This  I,  scouting  alone,  beheld, 
Once,  twice  and  again! 


LN'CLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  735 

As  the  dawn  v/as  breaking  the  Sambhur  belled — 

Once,  twice  and  again! 
And  a  wclf  stole  back,  and  a  wolf  stole  back 
To  carry  the  word  to  the  waiting  pack, 
And  we  sought  and  we  found  and  we  bayed  on  his  track 

Once,  twice  and  again! 


As  the  dawn  was  breaking  the  Wolf  Pack  yelled 

Once,  twice  and  again! 
Feet  in  the  jungle  that  leave  no  mark! 
Eyes  that  can  see  in  the  dark — the  dark! 
Tongue — give  tongue  to  it!     Hark!  O  Hark! 

Once,  twice  and  again! 


SONG  OF  THE  MEN'S  SIDE 

(Neolithic] 

feared  The  Beast — when  he  followed  us  we  ran, 
Ran  very  fast  though  we  knew 
It  was  not  right  that  The  Beast  should  master  Man; 

But  what  could  we  Flint-workers  do? 
The  Beast  only  grinned  at  our  spears  round  his  ears — 

Grinned  at  the  hammers  that  we  made; 
But  now  we  will  hunt  him  for  the  life  with  the  Knife — 
And  this  is  the  Buyer  of  the  Blade! 


Room  for  his  shadow  on  the  grass — let  it  pass  ! 

To  left  and  right — stand  clear  ! 
This  is  the  Buyer  of  the  Blade — be  afraid  ! 

This  is  the  great  god  Tyr  ! 


736  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Tyr  thought  hard  till  he  hammered  out  a  plan, 

For  he  knew  it  was  not  right 
(And  it  is  not  right)  that  The  Beast  should  master  Man; 

So  he  went  to  the  Children  of  the  Night. 
He  begged  a  Magic  Knife  of  their  make  for  our  sake. 

When  he  begged  for  the  Knife  they  said : 
"The  price  of  the  Knife  you  would  buy  is  an  eye!" 

And  that  was  the  price  he  paid. 


Tell  it  to  the  Barrows  of  the  Dead—run  ahead  ! 

Shout  it  so  the  Women's  Side  can  hear  ! 
This  is  the  Buyer  of  the  Blade — be  afraid ! 

This  is  the  great  god  Tyr  ! 


Our  women  and  our  little  ones  may  walk  on  the  Chalk, 

As  far  as  we  can  see  them  and  beyond. 
We  shall  not  be  anxious  for  our  sheep  when  we  keep 

Tally  at  the  shearing-pond. 
We  can  eat  with  both  our  elbows  on  our  knees,  if  we  please, 

We  can  sleep  after  meals  in  the  sun, 
For  Shepherd  of  the  Twilight  is  dismayed  at  the  Blade, 

Feet-in-the-Night  have  run! 
Dog-without-a-Master  goes  away  (Hai,  Tyr,  aie!), 

Devil-in-the-Dusk  has  run ! 


Then: 

Room  for  his  shadow  on  the  grass — let  it  pass  ! 

To  left  and  right — stand  clear  ! 
This  is  the  Buyer  of  the  Blade— be  afrcid  ! 
This  is  the  great  god  Tyr  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  737 

DARZEE'S  CHAUNT 

(Sung  in  honour  of  Rikki-tikki-tavi) 

gINGER  and  tailor  am  I— 

Doubled  the  joys  that  I  know — 
Proud  of  my  lilt  to  the  sky, 

Proud  of  the  house  that  I  sew — 

Over  and  under,  so  weave  I  my  music — so  weave  I  the  house 
that  I  sew. 


Sing  to  your  fledglings  again, 

Mother,  O  lift  up  your  head ! 
Evil  that  plagued  us  is  slain, 

Death  in  the  garden  lies  dead. 

Terror  that  hid  in  the  roses  is  impotent — flung  on  the  dung- 
hill and  dead! 


Who  hath  delivered  us,  who? 

Tell  me  his  nest  and  his  name. 
Rikki,  the  valiant,  the  true, 

Tikki,  with  eyeballs  of  flame, 

Rik-tikki-tikki,  the  ivory-fanged,  the  Hunter  with  eyeballs  of 
flame. 


Give  him  the  Thanks  of  the  Birds, 
Bowing  with  tail-feathers  spread! 
Praise  him  in  nightingale- words — 

Nay,  I  will  praise  him  instead. 

Hear!  I  will  sing  you  the  praise  of  the  bottle-tailed  Rikki, 
with  eyeballs  of  red! 

(Here  Rikki-tikki  interrupted,  and  the  rest  of  the  song  is  lost.} 


738  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  FOUR  ANGELS 

AS  ADAM  lay  a-dreaming  beneath  the  Apple  Tree 
"^   The  Angel  of  the  Earth  came  down,  and  offered  Earth  in 
fee. 

But  Adam  did  not  need  it, 
Nor  the  plough  he  would  not  speed  it, 
Singing: — "Earth  and  Water,  Air  and  Fire, 

"What  more  can  mortal  man  desire?" 
(The  Apple  Tree's  in  bud.) 

As  Adam  lay  a-dreaming  beneath  the  Apple  Tree 
The  Angel  of  the  Waters  offered  all  the  Seas  in  fee. 
But  Adam  would  not  take  'em, 
Nor  the  ships  he  wouldn't  make  'em, 
Singing: — "Water,  Earth  and  Air  and  Fire, 
What  more  can  mortal  man  desire?" 
(The  Apple  Tree's  in  leaf.) 

As  Adam  lay  a-dreaming  beneath  the  Apple  Tree 
The  Angel  of  the  Air  he  offered  all  the  Air  in  fee. 
But  Adam  did  not  crave  it, 
Nor  tne  flight  he  wouldn't  brave  it, 
Singing: — "Air  and  Water,  Earth  and  Fire, 
What  more  can  mortal  man  desire?" 
(The  Apple  Tree's  in  bloom.) 

As  Adam  lay  a-dreaming  beneath  the  Apple  Tree, 
The  Angel  of  the  Fire  rose  up  and  not  a  word  said  he, 
But  he  wished  a  flame  and  made  it, 
And  in  Adam's  heart  he  laid  it, 
Singing: — "Fire,  Fire,  burning  Fire! 

Stand  up  and  reach  your  heart's  desire!" 
(The  Apple  Blossom's  set.) 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  739 

As  Adam  was  a-working  outside  of  Eden-Wall, 
He  used  the  Earth,  he  used  the  Seas,  he  used  the  Air  and  all; 
Till  out  of  black  disaster 
He  arose  to  be  the  master 

Of  Earth  and  Water,  Air  and  Fire, 
But  never  reached  his  heart's  desire! 
(The  Apple  Tree's  cut  down!) 


THE  BEGINNINGS 

1914-18 

JT  WAS  not  part  of  their  blood, 
It  came  to  them  very  late 

With  long  arrears  to  make  good, 
When  the  English  began  to  hate. 


They  were  not  easily  moved, 
They  were  icy-willing  to  wait 

Till  every  count  should  be  proved, 
Ere  the  English  began  to  hate. 


Their  voices  were  even  and  low, 
Their  eyes  were  level  and  straight. 

There  was  neither  sign  nor  show, 
When  the  English  began  to  hate. 


It  was  not  preached  to  the  crowd, 
It  was  not  taught  by  the  State. 

No  man  spoke  it  aloud, 

When  the  English  began  to  hate. 


740  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

It  was  not  suddenly  bred, 
It  will  not  swiftly  abate, 

Through  the  chill  years  ahead, 

When  Time  shall  count  from  the  date 
That  the  English  began  to  hate. 


THE  PRAYER 

fyJY  BROTHER  kneels,  so  saith  Kabir, 
To  stone  and  brass  in  heathen-wise, 
But  in  my  brother's  voice  I  hear 
My  own  unanswered  agonies. 
His  God  is  as  his  fates  assign, 
His  prayer  is  all  the  world's — and  mine. 


SONGS  FROM  ENGLISH  HISTORY 


THE  RIVER'S  TALE 

(PREHISTORIC) 

'T'^ENTY  bridges  from  Tower  to  Kew 

Wanted  to  know  what  the  River  knew, 
For  they  were  young  and  the  Thames  was  old. 
And  this  is  the  tale  that  the  River  told: — 

"I  walk  my  beat  before  London  Town, 

Five  hours  up  and  seven  down. 

Up  Igo  till  I  end  my  run 

At  Tide-end-town,  which  is  Teddington. 

Down  I  come  with  the  mud  in  my  hands 

And  plaster  it  over  the  Maplin  Sands. 

But  I'd  have  you  know  that  these  waters  of  mine 

Were  once  a  branch  of  the  River  Rhine, 

When  hundreds  of  miles  to  the  East  I  went 

And  England  was  joined  to  the  Continent. 

I  remember  the  bat-winged  lizard-birds, 

The  Age  of  Ice  and  the  mammoth  herds, 

And  the  giant  tigers  that  stalked  them  down 

Through  Regent's  Park  into  Camden  Town. 

And  I  remember  like  yesterday 

The  earliest  Cockney  who  came  my  way, 

When  he  pushed  through  the  forest  that  lined  the  Strand, 

With  paint  on  his  face  and  a  club  in  his  hand. 

He  was  death  to  feather  and  fin  and  fur, 

He  trapped  my  beavers  at  Westminster. 

He  netted  my  salmon,  he  hunted  my  deer, 

He  killed  my  herons  off  Lambeth  Pier. 

He  fought  his  neighbour  with  axes  and  swords, 

Flint  or  bronze,  at  my  upper  fords, 

While  down  at  Greenwich,  for  slaves  and  tin, 

The  tall  Phoenician  ships  stole  in, 

743 


744  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  North  Sea  war-boats,  painted  and  gay, 

Flashed  like  dragon-flies  Erith  way; 

And  Norseman  and  Negro  and  Gaul  and  Greek 

Drank  with  the  Britons  in  Barking  Creek, 

And  life  was  gay,  and  the  world  was  new, 

And  I  was  a  mile  across  at  Kew! 

But  the  Roman  came  with  a  heavy  hand, 

And  bridged  and  roaded  and  ruled  the  land, 

And  the  Roman  left  and  the  Danes  blew  in— 

And  that's  where  your  history-books  begin!" 


THE  ROMAN  CENTURION'S  SONG 
(ROMAN  OCCUPATION  OF  BRITAIN,  A.  D.  300) 

TEGATE,  I  had  the  news  last  night — my  cohort  ordered 

home 

By  ship  to  Portus  Itius  and  thence  by  road  to  Rome. 
I've  marched  the  companies  aboard,  the  arms  are  stowed 

below: 
Now  let  another  take  my  sword.     Command  me  not  to  go! 

I've  served  in  Britain  forty  years,  from  Vectis  to  the  Wall 

I  have  none  other  home  than  this,  nor  any  life  at  all. 

Last  night  I  did  not  understand,  but,  now  the  hour  draws 

near 
That  calls  me  to  my  native  land,  I  feel  that  land  is  here. 

Here  where  men  say  my  name  was  made,  here  where  my 
work  was  done, 

Here  where  my  dearest  dead  are  laid — my  wife — my  wife 
and  son; 

Here  where  time,  custom,  grief  and  toil,  age,  memory,  ser- 
vice, love, 

Have  rooted  me  in  British  soil.     Ah,  how  can  I  remove? 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  74$ 

For  me  this  land,  that  sea,  these  airs,  those  folk  and  fields 

suffice. 
What    purple    Southern    pomp   can    match   our   changeful 

Northern  skies, 
Black  with  December  snows  unshed  or  pearled  with  August 

haze — 
The  clanging  arch  of  steel-grey  March,  or  June's  long-lighted 

days? 


You'll  follow  widening  Rhodanus  till  vine  and  olive  lean 
Aslant  before  the  sunny  breeze  that  sweeps  Nemausus  clean 
To  Arelate's  triple  gate;  but  let  me  linger  on, 
Here  where  our  stiff-necked   British  oaks  confront  Euro- 
clvdon ! 


You'll  take  the  old  Aurelian  Road  through  shore-descending 

pines 
Where,  blue  as  any  peacock's  neck,   the  Tyrrhene  Ocean 

shines. 
You'll  go  where  laurel  crowns  are  won,  but — will  you  e'er 

forget 
The  scent  of  hawthorn  in  the  sun,  or  bracken  in  the  wet? 


Let  me  work  here  for  Britain's  sake — at  any  task  you  will — 
A  marsh  to  drain,  a  road  to  make  or  native  troops  to  drill. 
Some  Western  camp  (I  know  the  Pict)  or  granite  Border 

keep, 
Mid  seas  of  heather  derelict,  where  our  old  messmates  sleep. 

Legate,  I  come  to  you  in  tears — My  cohort  ordered  home! 
I've  served  in  Britain  forty  years.     What  should  I  do  in 

Rome? 

Here  is  my  heart,  my  soul,  my  mind — the  only  life  I  know. 
I  cannot  leave  it  all  behind.     Command  me  not  to  go! 


746  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  PIRATES  IN  ENGLAND 

(SAXON  INVASION)  A.  D.  400-600, 

A)17HEN  Rome  was  rotten-ripe  to  her  fall, 

And  the  sceptre  passed  from  her  hand, 
The  pestilent  Picts  leaped  over  the  wall 
To  harry  the  English  land. 

The  little  dark  men  of  the  mountain  and  waste, 

So  quick  to  laughter  and  tears, 
They  came  panting  with  hate  and  haste 

For  the  loot  of  five  hundred  years. 

They  killed  the  trader,  they  sacked  the  shops, 

They  ruined  temple  and  town — 
They  swept  like  wolves  through  the  standing  crops 
-    Crying  that  Rome  was  down. 

They  wiped  out  all  that  they  could  find 
Of  beauty  and  strength  and  worth, 

But  they  could  not  wipe  out  the  Viking's  Wind, 
That  brings  the  ships  from  the  North. 

They  could  not  wipe  out  the  North-East  gales, 

Nor  what  those  gales  set  free — 
The  pirate  ships  with  their  close-reefed  sails, 

Leaping  from  sea  to  sea. 

They  had  forgotten  the  shield-hung  hull 

Seen  nearer  and  more  plain, 
Dipping  into  the  troughs  like  a  gull, 

And  gull-like  rising  again — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  747 

The  painted  eyes  that  glare  and  frown, 

In  the  high  snake-headed  stem, 
Searching  the  beach  while  her  sail  comes  down, 

They  had  forgotten  them! 

There  was  no  Count  of  the  Saxon  Shore 

To  meet  her  hand  to  hand, 
As  she  took  the  beach  with  a  grind  and  a  roar, 

And  the  pirates  rushed  inland. 


DANEGELD 

(A.  D.  980-1016) 

TT  IS  always  a  temptation  to  an  armed  and  agile  nation, 

To  call  upon  a  neighbour  and  to  say: — 
"We  invaded  you  last  night — we  are  quite  prepared  to  fight, 
Unless  you  pay  us  cash  to  go  away." 

And  that  is  called  asking  for  Dane-geld, 

And  the  people  who  ask  it  explain 
That  you've  only  to  pay  'em  the  Dane-geld 

And  then  you'll  get  rid  of  the  Dane! 

It  is  always  a  temptation  to  a  rich  and  lazy  nation, 

To  puff  and  look  important  and  to  say: — 
"Though  we  know  we  should  defeat  you,  we  have  not  the 
time  to  meet  you. 

We  will  therefore  pay  you  cash  to  go  away." 

And  that  is  called  paying  the  Dane-geld; 

But  we've  proved  it  again  and  again, 
That  if  once  you  have  paid  him  the  Dane-geld 

You  never  get  rid  of  the  Dane. 


748  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

It  is  wrong  to  put  temptation  in  the  path  of  any  nation, 
For  fear  they  should  succumb  and  go  astray, 

So  when  you  are  requested  to  pay  up  or  be  molested, 
You  will  find  it  better  policy  to  say:— 

"We  never  pay  any  one  Dane-geld, 

No  matter  how  trifling  the  cost, 
For  the  end  of  that  game  is  oppression  and  shame, 

And  the  nation  that  plays  it  is  lost!" 


THE    ANVIL 

(NORMAN  CONQUEST,  1066) 

JETNGLAND'S  on  the  anvil — hear  the  hammers  ring — 

Clanging  from  the  Severn  to  the  Tyne! 
Never  was  a  blacksmith  like  our  Norman  King — 

England's  being  hammered,  hammered,  hammered  into 
line! 


England's  on  the  anvil!     Heavy  are  the  blows! 

(But  the  work  will  be  a  marvel  when  it's  done) 
Little  bits  of  Kingdoms  cannot  stand  against  their  foes. 

England's  being  hammered,  hammered,  hammered  into 
one! 


There  shall  be  one  people — it  shall  serve  one  Lord — 

(Neither  Priest  nor  Baron  shall  escape!) 
It  shall  have  one  speech  and  law,  soul  and  strength  and  sword. 

England's  being  hammered,  hammered,  hammered  into 
shape! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885^-1918  749 

NORMAN  AND  SAXON 

(A.  D.  iioo) 

\/[Y  SON,"  said  the  Norman  Baron,  "I  am  dying,  and  you 

will  be  heir 
To  all  the  broad  acres  in  England  that  William  gave  me  for 

my  share 
When  we  conquered  the  Saxon  at  Hastings,  and  a  nice  little 

handful  it  is. 
But  before  you  go  over  to  rule  it  I  wr.nt  you  to  understand 

this: — 

"The  Saxon  is  not  like  us  Normans.     His  manners  are  not 

so  polite. 
But  he  never  means  anything  serious  till   he   talks  about 

justice  and  right. 
When  he  stands  like  an  ox  in  the  furrow  with  his  sullen  set 

eyes  on  your  own, 
And  grumbles,  "This  isn't  fair  dealings,"  my  son,  leave  the 

Saxon  alone. 

"You  can  horsewhip  your  Gascony  archers,  or  torture  your 

Picardy  spears, 
But  don't  try  that  game  on  the  Saxon;  you'll  have  the  whole 

brood  round  your  ears. 
From  the  richest  old  Thane  in  the  county  to  the  poorest 

chained  serf  in  the  field, 
They'll  be  at  you  and  on  you  like  hornets,  and,  if  you  are 

wise,  you  will  yield. 

"But  first  you  must  master  their  language,  their  dialect, 

proverbs  and  songs. 
Don't  trust  any  clerk  to  interpret  when  they  come  with  the 

tale  of  their  wrongs. 


750  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Let  them  know  that  you  know  what  they're  saying;  let  them 

feel  that  you  know  what  to  say. 
Yes,  even  when  you  want  to  go  hunting,  hear  'em  out  if  it 

takes  you  all  day. 

"They'll  drink  every  hour  of  the  daylight  and  poach  every 

hour  of  the  dark, 
It's  the  spoBt  not  the  rabbits  they  're  after  (we  Ve  plenty  of 

game  in  the  park). 
Don't  hang  them  or  cut  off  their  fingers.     That's  wasteful 

as  well  as  unkind, 
For  a  hard-bitten,  South-country  poacher  makes  the  best 

man-at-arms  you  can  find. 

"Appear  with  your  wife  and  the  children  at  their  weddings 

.    and  funerals  and  feasts. 
Be  polite  but  not  friendly  to  Bishops;  be  good  to  all  poor 

parish  priests. 
Say  'we,'  'us*  and  'ours'  when  you're  talking  instead  of 

'you  fellows'  and  'I.' 
Don't  ride  over  seeds;  keep  your  temper;  and  never  you  tell 

'em  a  lie!" 


THE   REEDS  OF  RUNNYMEDE 

'MAGNA  CHARTA,  JUNE  15,  1215) 

AT  RUNNYMEDE,  at  Runnymede, 

What  say  the  reeds  at  Runnymede? 
The  lissom  reeds  that  give  and  take, 
That  bend  so  far,  but  never  break. 
They  keep  the  sleepy  Thames  awake 
With  tales  of  John  at  Runnymede. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  751 

At  Runnymede,  at  Runnymede, 

Oh  hear  the  reeds  at  Runnymede: — 
"You  must  n't  sell,  delay,  deny, 
A  freeman's  right  or  liberty, 
It  wakes  the  stubborn  Englishry, 

We  saw  'em  roused  at  Runnymede! 


"When  through  our  ranks  the  Barons  came, 
With  little  thought  of  praise  or  blame, 
But  resolute  to  play  the  game, 

They  lumbered  up  to  Runnymede; 
And  there  they  launched  in  solid  line, 
The  first  attack  on  Right  Divine — 
The  curt,  uncompromising  'Sign!' 

That  settled  John  at  Runnymede. 


"At  Runnymede,  at  Runnymede, 
Your  rights  were  won  at  Runnymede! 
No  freeman  shall  be  fined  or  bound, 

Or  dispossessed  of  freehold  ground, 
Except  by  lawful  judgment  found 
And  passed  upon  him  by  his  peers! 
Forget  not,  after  all  these  years, 

The  Charter  signed  at  Runnymede." 


And  still  when  Mob  or  Monarch  lays 
Too  rude  a  hand  on  English  ways, 
The  whisper  wakes,  the  shudder  plays, 

Across  the  reeds  at  Runnymede. 
And  Thames,  that  knows  the  moods  of  kings, 
And  crowds  and  priests  and  suchlike  things, 
Rolls  deep  and  dreadful  as  he  brings 

Their  warning  down  from  Runnymede! 


752  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

MY  FATHER'S  CHAIR 

(PARLIAMENTS  OF  HENRY  III,  1265) 

HPHERE  are  four  good  legs  to  my  Father's  Chaii 

Priest  and  People  and  Lords  and  Crown. 
I  sits  on  all  of  'em  fair  and  square, 
And  that  is  the  reason  it  don't  break  down. 

I  won't  trust  one  leg,  nor  two,  nor  three, 
To  carry  my  weight  when  I  sets  me  down, 
I  wants  all  four  of  'em  under  me — 
Priest  and  People  and  Lords  and  Crown. 

I  sits  on  all  four  and  I  favours  none — 
Priest,  nor  People,  nor  Lords,  nor  Crown 
And  I  never  tilts  in  my  chair,  my  son, 
And  that  is  the  reason  it  don't  break  down! 

When  your  time  conies  to  sit  in  my  Chair, 
Remember  your  Father's  habits  and  rules. 
Sit  on  all  four  legs,  fair  and  square, 
And  never  be  tempted  by  cno-legged  stools! 


THE  DAWN  WIND 

(THE  FIFTEENTH  CENTURY) 

AT  TWO  o'clock  in  the  morning,  if  you  open  your  window 

and  listen, 

You  will  hear  the  feet  of  the  Wind  that  is  going  to  call  the 
sun. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  753 

And  the  trees  in  the  shadow  rustle  and  the  trees  in  the  moon- 
light glisten, 

And  though  it  is  deep,  dark. night,  you  feel  that  the  night 
is  done. 

So  do  the  cows  in  the  field.     They  graze  for  an  hour  and  lie 

down, 

Dozing  and  chewing  the  cud;  or  a  bird  in  the  ivy  wakes, 
Chirrups  one  note  and  is  still,  and  the  restless  Wind  strays  on, 
Fidgeting  far  down   the  road,  till,  softly,  the  darkness 
breaks. 

Back  comes  the  Wind  full  strength  with  a  blow  like  an  angel's 

wing,. 
Gentle  but  waking  the  world,  as  he  shouts:  "The  Sun! 

The  Sun!" 

And  the  light  floods  over  the  fields  and  the  birds  begin  to  sing, 
And  the  Wind  dies  down  in  the  grass.     It  is  day  and  his 
work  is  done. 

So  when  the  world  is  asleep,  and  there  seems  no  hope  of  her 

waking 
Out  of  some  long,  bad  dream  that  makes  her  mutter  and 

moan, 

Suddenly,  all  men  arise  to  the  noise  of  fetters  breaking, 
And  every  one  smiles  at  his  neighbour  and  tells  him  his  soul 
is  his  own! 


THE   KING'S  JOB 

(THE  TUDOR  MONARCHY) 

on  a  time  was  a  King  anxious  to  understand 
What  was  the  wisest  thing  a  man  could  do  for  his  land. 
Most  of  his  population  hurried  to  answer  the  question, 
Each  with  a  long  oration,  each  with  a  new  suggestion. 


754  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

They  interrupted  his  meals — he  wasn't  safe  in  his  bed  from 

'em — 
They  hung   round   his   neck   and   heels,   and   at  last  His 

Majesty  fled  from  'em. 

He  put  on  a  leper's  cloak  (people  leave  lepers  alone), 
Out  of  the  window  he  broke,  and  abdicated  his  throne. 
All  that  rapturous  day,  while  his  Court  and  his  Ministers 

mourned  him, 
He  danced  on  his  own  highway  till  his  own  Policemen  warned 

him. 

Gay  and  cheerful  he  ran  (lepers  don't  cheer  as  a  rule) 
Till  he  found  a  philosopher-man  teaching  an  infant-school. 
The  windows  were  open  wide,  the  King  sat  down  on  the  grass, 
And  heard  the  children  inside  reciting  "Our  King  is  an  ass." 
The  King  popped  in  his  head,  "Some  people  would  call  this 

treason, 
But  I  think  you  are  right,"  he  said;  "Will  you  kindly  give 

me  your  reason?" 

Lepers  in  school  are  as  rare  as  kings  with  a  leper's  dress  on, 
But  the  class  didn't  stop  or  stare;  it  calmly  went  on  with  the 

lesson : 

"  The  wisest  thing,  we  suppose,  that  a  man  can  do  for  his  land, 
Is  the  work  that  lies  under  his  nose,  with  the  tools  that  lie  under 

his  hand" 
The  King  whipped  off  his  cloak,  and  stood  in  his  crown  before 

'em. 

He  said:     "My  dear  little  folk,  Ex  ore parvulorum — 
(Which  is  Latin  for  "Children  know  more  than  grown-ups 

would  credit"') 

You  have  shown  me  the  road  to  go,  and  I  propose  to  tread  it." 
Back  to  his  Kingdom  he  ran,  and  issued  a  Proclamation, 
"Let  every  living  man  return  to  his  occupation!" 
Then  he  explained  to  the  mob  that  cheered  in  his  palace  and 

round  it, 
"I've  been  to  look  for  a  job,  and  Heaven  be  praised  I've 

found  it!" 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  755 

WITH  DRAKE  IN  THE  TROPICS 

(A.  D. 


COUTH  and  far  south  below  the  Line, 

Our  Admiral  leads  us  on, 
Above,  undreamed-of  planets  shine  — 

The  stars  we  knew  are  gone. 
Around,  our  clustered  seamen  mark 

The  silent  deep  ablaze 
With  fires,  through  which  the  far-down  shark 

Shoots  glimmering  on  his  ways. 

The  sultry  tropic  breezes  fail 

That  plagued  us  all  day  through; 
Like  molten  silver  hangs  our  sail, 

Our  decks  are  dark  with  dew. 
Now  the  rank  moon  commands  the  sky, 

Ho!     Bid  the  watch  beware 
And  rouse  all  sleeping  men  that  lie 

Unsheltered  in  her  glare. 

How  long  the  time  'twixt  bell  and  bell! 

How  still  our  Ian  thorns  burn! 
How  strange  our  whispered  words  that  tell 

Of  England  and  return! 
Old  towns,  old  streets,  old  friends,  old  loves, 

We  name  them  each  to  each, 
While  the  lit  face  of  Heaven  removes 

Them  farther  from  our  reach. 

Now  is  the  utmost  ebb  of  night 

When  mind  and  body  sink, 
And  loneliness  and  gathering  fright 

O'erwhelm  us,  if  we  think  — 


756  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Yet,  look,  where  in  his  room  apart, 
All  windows  opened  wide, 

Our  Admiral  thrusts  away  the  chart 
And  comes  to  walk  outside. 

Kindly,  from  man  to  man  he  goes, 

With  comfort,  praise,  or  jest, 
Quick  to  suspect  our  childish  woes, 

Our  terror  and  unrest. 
It  is  as  though  the  sun  should  shine — 

Our  midnight  fears  are  gone! 
South  and  far  south  below  the  Line, 

Our  Admiral  leads  us  on ! 


"TOGETHER" 

(ENGLAND  AT  WAR) 

\X7HEN  Horse  and  Rider  each  can  trust  the  other  every- 

V  where, 
It  takes  a  fence  and  more  than  a  fence  to  pound  that  happy 

pair; 
For  the  one  will  do  what  the  other  demands,  although  he  is 

beaten  and  blown, 
And  when  it  is  done,  they  can  live  through  a  run  that  neither 

could  face  alone. 

When  Crew  and  Captain  understand  each  other  to  the  core, 
It  takes  a  gale  and  more  than  a  gale  to  put  their  ship  ashore; 
For  the  one  will  do  what  the  other  commands,  although  they 

are  chilled  to  the  bone, 
And  both  together  can  live  through  weather  that  neither 

could  face  alone. 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  757 

When  King  and  People  understand  each  other  past  a  doubt, 
It  takes  a  foe  and  more  than,  a  foe  to  knock  that  country 

out; 
For  tKe  one  will  do  what  the  other  requires  as  soon  as  the 

need  is  shown, 
And  hand  in  hand  they  can  make  a  stand  which  neither  could 

make  alone! 

This  wisdom  had  Elizabeth  and  all  her  subjects  too, 

For  she  was  theirs  and  they  were  hers,  as  well  the  Spaniard 

knew; 
For  when  his  grim  Armada  came  to  conquer  the  Nation  and 

Throne, 
Wfty,  back  to  back  they  met  an  attack  that  neither  could  face 

alone ! 

It  is  not  wealth  nor  talk  nor  trade  nor  schools  nor  even  the 

Vote, 
Will  save  your  land  when  the  enemy's  hand  is  tightening 

round  your  throat. 
But  a  King  and  a  People  who  thoroughly  trust  each  other  in 

all  that  is  done 
Can  sleep  on  their  bed  without  any  dread — for  the  world  will 

leave  'em  alone! 


JAMES  I 

(1603-1625) 

'p HE  child  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 

A  shifty  mother's  shiftless  son, 
Bred  up  among  intrigues  and  plots, 

Learned  in  all  things,  wise  in  none. 
Ungainly,  babbling,  wasteful,  weak, 

Shrewd,  clever,  cowardly,  pedantic, 
The  sight  of  steel  would  blanch  his  cheek, 

The  smell  of  baccy  drive  him  frantic. 


758  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

He  was  the  author  of  his  line — 

He  wrote  that  witches  should  be  burnt; 

He  wrote  that  monarchs  were  divine, 
And  left  a  son  who — proved  they  weren't! 


EDGEHILL  FIGHT 
(CiviL  WARS,  1642) 

and  grey  the  Cotswolds  stand 
Beneath  the  autumn  sun, 
And  the  stubble-fields  on  either  hand 

Where  Stour  and  Avon  run. 
There  is  no  change  in  the  patient  land 
That  has  bred  us  every  one. 

She  should  have  passed  in  cloud  and  fire 

And  saved  us  from  this  sin 
Of  war — red  war — 'twixt  child  and  sire, 

Household  and  kith  and  kin, 
In  the  heart  of  a  sleepy  Midland  shire, 

With  the  harvest  scarcely  in. 

But  there  is  no  change  as  we  meet  at  last 
On  the  brow-head  or  the  plain, 

And  the  raw  astonished  ranks  stand  fast 
To  slay  or  to  be  slain 

By  the  men  they  knew  in  the  kindly  past 
That  shall  never  come  again — 

By  the  men  they  met  at  dance  or  chase, 

In  the  tavern  or  the  hall, 
At  the  justice-bench  and  the  market-place, 

At  the  cudgel-play  or  brawl — 
Of  their  own  blood  and  speech  and  race, 

Comrades  or  neighbours  all! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  759 

More  bitter  than  death  this  day  must  prove 

Whichever  way  it  go, 
For  the  brothers  of  the  maids  we  love 

Make  ready  to  lay  low 
Their  sisters'  sweethearts,  as  we  move 

Against  our  dearest  foe. 

Thank  Heaven!     At  last  the  trumpets  peal 

Before  our  strength  gives  way. 
For  King  or  for  the  Commonweal 

No  matter  which  they  say, 
The  first  dry  rattle  of  new-drawn  steel 

Changes  the  world  to-day! 


THE  DUTCH  IN  THE  MEDWAY 

(1664-1672) 

TF  WARS  were  won  by  feasting, 

Or  victory  by  song, 
Or  safety  found  in  sleeping  sound, 

How  England  would  be  strong! 
But  honour  and  dominion 

Are  not  maintained  so, 
They're  only  got  by  sword  and  shot, 

And  this  the  Dutchmen  know  I 

The  moneys  that  should  feed  us, 

You  spend  on  your  delight, 
How  can  you  then  have  sailor-men 

To  aid  you  in  your  fight? 
Our  fish  and  cheese  are  rotten, 

Which  makes  the  scurvy  grow — 
We  cannot  serve  you  if  we  starve, 

And  this  the  Dutchmen  know  ! 


760  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

Our  ships  in  every  harbour 

Be  neither  whole  nor  sound, 
And,  when  we  seek  to  mend  a  leak, 

No  oakum  can  be  found, 
Or,  if  it  is,  the  caulkers, 

And  carpenters  also, 
For  lack  of  pay  have  gone  away, 

And  this  the  Dutchmen  know  I 

Mere  powder,  guns,  and  bullets, 

We  scarce  can  get  at  all, 
Their  price  was  spent  in  merriment 

And  revel  at  Whitehall, 
While  we  in  tattered  doublets 

From  ship  to  ship  must  row, 
Beseeching  friends  for  odds  and  ends- 

And  this  the  Dutchmen  know  I 

No  King  will  heed  our  warnings, 

No  Court  will  pay  our  claims — 
Our  King  and  Court  for  their  disport 

Do  sell  the  very  Thames ! 
For,  now  De  Ruyter's  topsails, 

Off  naked  Chatham  show, 
We  dare  not  meet  him  with  our  fleet — 

And  this  the  Dutchmen  know  ! 


"BROWN  BESS" 
(THE  ARMY  MUSKET — 1700-1815) 

TN  THE  days  of  lace-ruffles,  perukes  and  brocade 

Brown  Bess  was  a  partner  whom  none  could  despise 
An  out-spoken,  flinty-lipped,  brazen-faced  jade, 
With  a  habit  of  looking  men  straight  in  the  eyes — 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  761 

At  Blenheim  and  Ramillies  fops  would  confess 

They  were  pierced  to  the  heart  by  the  charms  of  Brown  Bess. 

Though  her  sight  was  not  long  and  her  weight  was  not  small 
Yet  her  actions  were  winning,  her  language  was  clear; 

And  everyone  bowed  as  she  opened  the  ball 
On  the  arm  of  some  high-gaitered,  grim  grenadier. 

Half  Europe  admitted  the  striking  success 

Of  the  dances  and  routs  that  were  given  by  Brown  Bess. 

When  ruffles  were  turned  into  stiff  leather  stocks 
And  people  wore  pigtails  instead  of  perukes 

Brown  Bess  never  altered  her  iron-grey  locks, 

She  knew  she  was  valued  for  more  than  her  looks- 

"Oh,  powder  and  patches  was  always  my  dress, 

And  I  think  I  am  killing  enough,"  said  Brown  Bess. 

So  she  followed  her  red-coats,  whatever  they  did, 
From  the  heights  of  Quebec  to  the  plains  of  Assaye, 

From  Gibraltar  to  Acre,  Cape  Town  and  Madrid, 
And  nothing  about  her  was  changed  on  the  way; 

(But  most  of  the  Empire  which  now  we  possess 

Was  won  through  those  years  by  old-fashioned  Brown  Bess.) 

In  stubborn  retreat  or  in  stately  advance, 

From  the  Portugal  coast  to  the  cork-woods  of  Spain 

She  had  puzzled  some  excellent  Marshals  of  France 
Till  none  of  them  wanted  to  meet  her  again: 

But  later,  near  Brussels,  Napoleon — no  less — 

Arranged  for  a  Waterloo  ball  with  Brown  Bess. 

She  had  danced  till  the  dawn  of  that  terrible  day — 
She  danced  on  till  dusk  of  more  terrible  night, 

And  before  her  Jinked  squares  his  battalions  gave  way 
And  her  long  fierce  quadrilles  put  his  lancers  to  flight: 

And  when  his  gilt  carriage  drove  off  in  the  press, 

"I  have  danced  my  last  dance  for  the  world!"  said  Brown 
Bess. 


762  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

If  you  go  to  Museums — there's  one  in  Whitehall — 
Where  old  weapons  are  shown  with  their  names  writ  be- 
neath, 

You  will  find  her,  upstanding,  her  back  to  the  wall, 
As  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  the  flint  in  her  teeth. 

And  if  ever  we  English  had  reason  to  bless 

Any  arm  save  our  mothers',  that  arm  is  Brown  Bess! 


THE  AMERICAN  REBELLION 

d776) 

I 

BEFORE 

"TTWAS  not  while  England's  sword  unsheathed 

Put  half  a  world  to  flight, 
Nor  while  their  new-built  cities  breathed 

Secure  behind  her  might; 
Not  while  she  poured  from  Pole  to  Line 

Treasure  and  ships  and  men — 
These  worshippers  at  Freedom's  shrine 

They  did  not  quit  her  then! 


Not  till  their  foes  were  driven  forth 

By  England  o'er  the  main — 
Not  till  the  Frenchman  from  the  North 

Had  gone  with  shattered  Spain; 
Not  till  the  clean-swept  oceans  showed 

No  hostile' flag  unrolled, 
Did  they  remember  what  they  owed 

To  Freedom — and  were  bold! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  763 


AFTER 

TPHE  snow  lies  thick  on  Valley  Forge, 

The  ice  on  the  Delaware, 
But  the  poor  dead  soldiers  of  King  George 
They  neither  know  nor  care — 

Not  though  the  earliest  primrose  break 

On  the  sunny  side  of  the  lane, 
And  scuffling  rookeries  awake 

Their  England's  spring  again. 

They  will  not  stir  when  the  drifts  are  gone 

Or  the  ice  melts  out  of  the  bay: 
And  the  men  that  served  with  Washington 

Lie  all  as  still  as  they. 

They  will  not  stir  though  the  mayflower  blows 
In  the  moist  dark  woods  of  pine, 

And  every  rock-strewn  pasture  shows 
Mullein  and  columbine. 

Each  for  his  land,  in  a  fair  fight, 

Encountered,  strove,  and  died, 
And  the  kindly  earth  that  knows  no  spite 

Covers  them  side  by  side. 

She  is  too  busy  to  think  of  war; 

She  has  all  the  world  to  make  gay; 
And,  behold,  the  yearly  flowers  are, 

Where  they  were  in  our  fathers'  day! 

Golden-rod  by  the  pasture-wall 

When  the  columbine  is  dead, 
And  sumach  leaves  that  turn,  in  fall, 

Bright  as  the  blood  they  shed. 


764  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  FRENCH  WARS 

(NAPOLEONIC) 

T^HE  boats  of  Newhaven  and  Folkestone  and  Dover 

To  Dieppe  and  Boulogne  and  to  Calais  cross  over; 
And  in  each  of  those  runs  there  is  not  a  square  yard 
Where  the  English  and  French  haven't  fought  and  fought 
hard! 

If  the  ships  that  were  sunk  could  be  floated  once  more, 
They'd  stretch  like  a  raft  from  the  shore  to  the  shore, 
And  we'd  see,  as  we  crossed,  every  pattern  and  plan 
Of  ship  that  was  built  since  sea-fighting  began. 

There'd  be  biremes  and  brigantines,  cutters  and  sloops, 
Cogs,  carracks  and  galleons  with  gay  gilded  poops — 
Hoys,  caravels,  ketches,  corvettes  and  the  rest, 
As  thick  as  regattas,  from  Ramsgate  to  Brest. 

But  the  galleys  of  Caesar,  the  squadrons  of  Sluys, 
And  Nelson's  crack  frigates  are  hid  from  our  eyes, 
Where  the  high  Seventy-fours  of  Napoleon's  days 
Lie  down  with  Deal  luggers  and  French  chasse-mar'ees. 

They'll  answer  no  signal — they  rest  on  the  ooze, 

With  their  honey-combed  guns  and  their  skeleton  crews — 

And  racing  above  them,  through  sunshine  or  gale, 

The  Cross-Channel  packets  come  in  with  the  Mail. 

Then  the  poor  sea-sick  passengers,  English  and  French, 
Must  open  their  trunks  on  the  Custom-house  bench, 
While  the  officers  rummage  for  smuggled  cigars 
And  nobody  thinks  of  our  blood-thirsty  wars! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  765 

BIG  STEAMERS 

1914-18 

OH,  WHERE  are  you  going  to,  all  you  Big  Steamers, 

With  England's  own  coal,  up  and  down  the  salt  seas?" 
"We  are  going  to  fetch  you  your  bread  and  your  butter, 
Your  beef,  pork,  and  mutton,  eggs,  apples,  and  cheese." 

"And  where  will  you  fetch  it  from,  all  you  Big  Steamers, 
And  where  shall  I  write  you  when  you  are  away?" 

"We  fetch  it  from  Melbourne,  Quebec,  and  Vancouver — 
Address  us  at  Hobart,  Hong-Kong,  and  Bombay." 

"  But  if  anything  happened  to  all  you  Big  Steamers, 

And  suppose  you  were  wrecked  up  and  down  the  salt  sea?" 

"Then  you'd  have  no  coffee  or  bacon  for  breakfast, 
And  you'd  have  no  muffins  or  toast  for  your  tea." 

"Then  I'll  pray  for  fine  weather  for  all  you  Big  Steamers, 

For  little  blue  billows  and  breezes  so  soft." 
"Oh,  billows  and  breezes  don't  bother  Big  Steamers, 

For  we're  iron  below  and  steel-rigging  aloft." 

"Then  I'll  build  a  new  lighthouse  for  all  you  Big  Steamers, 
With  plenty  wise  pilots  to  pilot  you  through." 

"Oh,  the  Channel's  as  bright  as  a  ball-room  already, 
And  pilots  are  thicker  than  pilchards  at  Looe." 

"Then  what  can  I  do  for  you,  all  you  Big  Steamers, 
Oh,  what  can  I  do  for  your  comfort  and  good?" 

"Send  out  your  big  warships  to  watch  your  big  waters, 
That  no  one  may  stop  us  from  bringing  you  food. 


766  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

"For  the  bread  that  you  eat  and  the  biscuits  you  nibble, 
The  sweets  that  you  suck  and  the  joints  that  you  carve, 

They  are  brought  to  you  daily  by  all  us  Big  Steamers — 
And  if  any  one  hinders  our  coming  you  II  starve  !" 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  MACHINES 

CMODERN  MACHINERY) 

WERE  taken  from  the  ore-bed  and  the  mine, 
We  were  melted  in  the  furnace  and  the  pit — 
We  were  cast  and  wrought  and  hammered  to  design, 

We  were  cut  and  filed  and  tooled  and  gauged  to  fit. 
Some  water,  coal,  and  oil  is  all  we  ask, 

And  a  thousandth  of  an  inch  to  give  us  play: 
And  now  if  you  will  set  us  to  our  task, 

We  will  serve  you  four  and  twenty  hours  a  day! 


We  can  pull  and  haul  and  push  and  lift  and  drive, 
We  can  print  and  plough  and  weave  and  heat  and  light, 
We  can  run  and  jump  and  swim  and  fly  and  dive, 
We  can  see  and  hear  and  count  and  read  and  write! 


Would  you  call  a  friend  from  half  across  the  world  ? 

If  you'll  let  us  have  his  name  and  town  and  state, 
You  shall  see  and  hear  your  crackling  question  hurled 

Across  the  arch  of  heaven  while  you  wait. 
Has  he  answered  ?     Does  he  need  you  at  his  side  ? 

You  can  start  this  very  evening  if  you  choose, 
And  take  the  Western  Ocean  in  the  stride 

Of  seventy  thousand  horses  and  some  screws! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  767 

The  boat-express  is  waiting  your  command! 
You  will  find  the  Mauretania  at  the  quay, 
Till  her  captain  turns  the  lever  'neath  his  hand, 
And  the  monstrous  nine-decked  city  goes  to  sea. 


Do  you  wish  to  make  the  mountains  bare  their  head 

And  lay  their  new-cut  forests  at  your  feet? 
Do  you  want  to  turn  a  river  in  its  bed, 

Or  plant  a  barren  wilderness  with  wheat? 
Shall  we  pipe  aloft  and  bring  you  water  down 

From  the  never-failing  cisterns  of  the  snows, 
To  work  the  mills  and  tramways  in  your  town, 

And  irrigate  your  orchards  as  it  flows? 


It  is  easy!     Give  us  dynamite  and  drills! 

Watch  the  iron-shouldered  rocks  lie  down  and  quake 

As  the  thirsty  desert-level  floods  and  fills, 

And  the  valley  we  have  dammed  becomes  a  lake. 


But  remember,  please,  the  Law  by  which  we  live, 

We  are  not  built  to  comprehend  a  lie, 
We  can  neither  love  nor  pity  nor  forgive, 

If  you  make  a  slip  in  handling  us  you  die! 
We  are  greater  than  the  Peoples  or  the  Kings — 

Be  humble,  as  you  crawl  beneath  our  rods! — 
Our  touch  can  alter  all  created  things, 

We  are  everything  on  earth — except  The  Gods ! 


Though  our  smoke  may  hide  the  Heavens  from  your 
It  will  vanish  and  the  stars  will  shine  again, 
Because,  for  all  our  power  and  weight  and  size, 
We  are  nothing  more  than  children  of  your  brain  / 


?68  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

THE  BELLS  AND  QUEEN  VICTORIA 

1911 

f^AY  go  up  and  gay  go  down 

7  To  ring  the  Bells  of  London  Town" 
When  London  Town's  asleep  in  bed 
You  II  hear  the  Bells  ring  overhead. 

In  ex  eels  is  gloria  ! 

Ringing  for  Victoria, 
Ringing  for  their  mighty  mistress — ten  years  dead  ! 

THE  BELLS: 

Here  is  more  gain  than  Gloriana  guessed — 

That  Gloriana  guessed  or  Indies  bring — 
Than  golden  Indies  bring.     A  Queen  confessed — 

A  Queen  confessed  that  crowned  her  people  King. 
Her  people  King,  and  crowned  all  Kings  above, 

Above  all  Kings  have  crowned  their  Queen  their  love — 
Have  crowned  their  love  their  Queen,  their  Queen  their  love! 


Denying  her,  we  do  ourselves  deny, 

Disowning  her  are  we  ourselves  disowned. 

Mirror  was  she  of  our  fidelity, 
And  handmaid  of  our  destiny  enthroned; 

The  very  marrow  of  Youth's  dream,  and  still 

Yoke-mate  of  wisest  Age  that  worked  her  will ! 


Our  fathers  had  declared  to  us  her  praise — 

Her  praise  the  years  had  proven  past  all  speech, 

And  past  all  speech  our  loyal  hearts  always, 
Always  our  hearts  lay  open,  each  to  each — 

Therefore  men  gave  their  treasure  and  their  blood 

To  this  one  woman — for  she  understood! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  769 

Four  o  the  clock  !    Now  all  the  world  is  still. 
Oh,  London  Bells,  to  all  the  world  declare 
The  Secret  of  the  Empire — read  who  will  I 
The  Glory  of  the  People — touch  who  dare  ! 

THE  BELLS: 

Power  that  has  reached  itself  all  kingly  powers, 
'St.  Margaret's:  By  love  o'erpowered — 
St.  Martin's:  By  love  o'erpowered — 
'St.  dement  Danes:  By  love  o'erpowered, 
The  greater  power  confers! 

THE  BELLS: 

For  we  were  hers,  as  she,  as  she  was  ours, 
Bow  Bells:  And  she  was  ours — 
St.  Paul's:  And  she  was  ours — 
Westminster:  And  she  was  ours, 

As  we,  even  we  were  hers! 

THE  BELLS: 

As  we  were  hers! 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  GARDEN 

C~\UR  England  is  a  garden  that  is  full  of  stately  views, 

Of  borders,  beds  and  shrubberies  and  lawns  and  avenues, 
With  statues  on  the  terraces  and  peacocks  strutting  by; 
But  the  Glory  of  the  Garden  lies  in  more  than  meets  the  eye. 

For  where  the  old  thick  laurels  grow,  along  the  thin  red  wall, 
You'll  find  the  tool-  and  potting-sheds  which  are  the  heart  of 

all, 
The  cold-frames  and  the  hot-houses,  the  dungpits  and  the 

tanks, 
The  rollers,  carts  and  drain-pipes,  with  the  barrows  and  the 

planks. 


770  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

And  there  you'll  see  the  gardeners,  the  men  and  'prentice 

boys 

Told  off  to  do  as  they  are  bid  and  do  it  without  noise; 
For,  except  when  seeds  are  planted  and  we  shout  to  scare  the 

birds, 
The  Glory  of  the  Garden  it  abideth  not  in  words. 

And  some  can  pot  begonias  and  some  can  bud  a  rose, 

And  some  are  hardly  fit  to  trust  with  anything  that  grows; 

But  they  can  roll  and  trim  the  lawns  and  sift  the  sand  and 

loam, 
For  the  Glory  of  the  Garden  occupieth  all  who  come. 

Our  England  is  a  garden,  and  such  gardens  are  not  made 
By  singing: — "Oh,  how  beautiful!"  and  sitting  in  the  shade, 
While  better  men  than  we  go  out  and  start  their  working  lives 
At  grubbing  weeds  from  gravel-paths  with  broken  dinner- 
knives. 

There's  not  a  pair  of  legs  so  thin,  there's  not  a  head  so  thick, 
There's  not  a  hand  so  weak  and  white,  nor  yet  a  heart  so  sick, 
But  it  can  find  some  needful  job  that's  crying  to  be  done, 
For  the  Glory  of  the  Garden  glorifieth  every  one. 

Then  seek  your  job  with  thankfulness  and  work  till  further 

orders, 

If  it's  only  netting  strawberries  or  killing  slugs  on  borders; 
And  when  your  back  stops  aching  and  your  hands  begin  to 

harden, 
You  will  find  yourself  a  partner  in  the  Glory  of  the  Garden. 

Oh,  Adam  was  a  gardener,  and  God  who  made  him  sees 
That  half  a  proper  gardener's  work  is  done  upon  his  knees, 
So  when  your  work  is  finished,  you  can  wash  your  hands  and 

pray 

For  the  Glory  of  the  Garden  that  it  may  not  pass  away ! 
And  the  Glory  of  the  Garden  it  shall  never  pass  away  ! 


INCLUSIVE  EDITION,   1885-1918  771 

GREAT-HEART 

(THEODORE  ROOSEVELT  IN  1919) 

The  Interpreter  then  called  for  a  man-servant  of  his,  one  Great-Heart." 

— Bunyan's  "Pilgrim's  Progress." 

(CONCERNING  brave  Captains 

Our  age  hath  made  known 
For  all  men  to  honour, 

One  standeth  alone, 
Of  whom,  o'er  both  oceans 

Both  Peoples  may  say: 
"Our  realm  is  diminished 

With  Great-Heart  away." 


In  purpose  unsparing, 

In  action  no  less, 
The  labours  he  praised 

He  would  seek  and  profess 
Through  travail  and  battle, 

At  hazard  and  pain.     .     .     . 
And  our  world  is  none  the  braver 

Since  Great-Heart  was  ta'en ! 


Plain  speech  with  plain  folk, 

And  plain  words  for  false  things, 
Plain  faith  in  plain  dealing 

'Twixt  neighbours  or  kings 
He  used  and  he  followed, 

However  it  sped.     .     .     . 
Oh,  our  world  is  none  more  honest 

Now  Great-Heart  is  dead! 


772  RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  VERSE 

The  heat  of  his  spirit 

Struck  warm  through  all  lands; 
For  he  loved  such  as  showed 

'Emselves  men  of  their  hands; 
In  love,  as  in  hate, 

Paying  home  to  the  last.     .     .     . 
But  our  world  is  none  the  kinder 

Now  Great-Heart  hath  passed! 


Hard-schooled  by  long  power, 

Yet  most  humble  of  mind 
Where  aught  that  he  was 

Might  advantage  mankind. 
Leal  servant,  loved  master, 

Rare  comrade,  sure  guide     . 
Oh,  our  world  is  none  the  safer 

Now  Great-Heart  hath  died! 


Let  those  who  would  handle 

Make  sure  they  can  wield 
His  far-reaching  sword 

And  his  close-guarding  shield; 
For  those  who  must  journey 

Henceforward  alone 
Have  need  of  stout  convoy 

Now  Great-Heart  is  gone. 


THE   END 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

PACI 

A  farmer  of  the  Augustan  Age 609 

A  fool  there  was  and  he  made  his  prayer 251 

A  great  and  glorious  thing  it  is 50 

A  Nation  spoke  to  a  Nation, 208 

A  Rose,  in  tatters  on  the  garden  path, 425 

A  stone's  throw  out  on  either  hand 575 

A  tinker  out  of  Bedford, 333 

Abdhur  Rahman,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the  story  told.  ....  279 

About  the  time  that  taverns  shut 725 

Across  a  world  where  all  men  grieve 446 

After  the  burial-parties  leave 365 

After  the  sack  of  the  City  when  Rome  was  sunk  to  a  name      .      .     .712 

Ah!     What  avails  the  classic  bent 391 

Ahasuerus  Jenkins  of  the  "Operatic  Own," 5 

All  day  long  to  the  judgment-seat 608 

All  the  world  over,  nursing  their  scars, 638 

Alone  upon  the  housetops  to  the  North 700 

"And  some  are  sulky,  while  some  will  plunge 574 

And  they  were  stronger  hands  than  mine 700 

As  Adam  lay  a-dreaming  beneath  the  Apple  Tree 738 

"  'As  anybody  seen  Bill  'Awkins?" 504 

As  I  left  the  Halls  at  Lumley,  rose  the  vision  of  a  comely   ....  59 

As  I  was  spittin'  into  the  Ditch  aboard  the  Crocodile, 492 

As  our  mother  the  Frigate,  bepainted  and  fine, 161 

As  the  dawn  was  breaking  the  Sambhur  belled — 734 

At  Runnymede,  at  Runnymede, 750 

At  the  close  of  a  winter  day, 381 

At  the  hole  where  he  went  in 708 

At  times  when  under  cover  I  'ave  said, 537 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  if  you  open  your  window  and  listen,   .  752 

'Ave  you  'card  o"  the  Widow  at  Windsor 470 

Away  by  the  lands  of  the  "Japanec 129 

Ay,  lay  him  'neath  the  Simla  pine — 49 

Be  well  assured  that  on  our  side 169 

Beat  off  in  our  last  fight  were  we? 604 

Because  I  sought  it  far  from  men, 604 

Bees  !    Bees  !    Hark  to  your  bees  ! 659 

Before  a  midnight  breaks  in  storm, 337 

Before  my  Spring  I  garnered  Autumn's  gain, 636 

773 


774  INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

Beneath  the  deep  verandah's  shade, 72 

Between  the  waving  tufts  of  jungle-grass, 634 

Beyond  the  path  of  the  outmost  sun  through  utter  darkness  hurled —  95 

"Blessed  be  the  English  and  all  their  ways  and  works 571 

Boanerges  Blitzen,  servant  of  the  Queen, 19 

Boh  Da  Thone  was  a  warrior  bold: 283 

Brethren,  how  shall  it  fare  with  me 376 

Broke  to  every  known  mischance,  lifted  over  all 335 

Buy  my  English  posies  ! 216 

By  the  Hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat  uptossed 690 

By  the  Laws  of  the  Family  Circle  'tis  written  in  letters  of  brass    .  i< 

By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward  to  the  sea,.      .      .      .  476 

By  the  well,  where  the  bullocks  go 75 

China-going  P.  and  O.'s 673 

Cities  and  Thrones  and  Powers, 554 

Concerning  brave  Captains 771 

Cry  "Murder"  in  the  market-place,  and  each 573 

Dark  children  of  the  mere  and  marsh, 635 

Dawn  off  the  Foreland — the  young  flood  making      ......  693 

Delilah  Aberyswith  was  a  lady — not  too  young — 7 

Dim  dawn  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sky  is  saffron-yellow —  ...  61 

Duly  with  knees  that  feign  to  quake — 359 

'E  was  warned  agin  'er — 509 

Eddi,  priest  of  St.  Wilfrid 581 

England's  on  the  anvil — hear  the  hammers  ring — 748 

Er-Heb  beyond  the  Hills. of  Ao-Safai 302 

Ere  Mor  the  Peacock  flutters,  ere  the  Monkey  People  cry,.      .      .      .  683 

Ere  the  steamer  bore  him  Eastward,  Sleary  was  engaged  to  marry      .  1 2 

Excellent  herbs  had  our  fathers  of  old— 631 

Eyes  aloft,  over  dangerous  places, 697 

Eyes  of  grey — a  sodden  quay, 34 

Fair  is  our  lot — 0  goodly  is  our  heritage  ! 194 

Farewell  and  adieu  to  you,  Harwich  Ladies, 639 

Farewell,  Romance!  the  Cave-men  said; 429 

Files— 401 

For  a  season  there  must  be  pain — 680 

For  all  we  have  and  are, 378 

For  our  white  and  our  excellent  nights — for  the  nights  of  swift  running,  707 

For  the  sake  of  him  who  showed 591 

For  things  we  never  mention, no 

From  the  wheel  and  the  drift  of  Things 680 

Full  thirty  foot  she  towered  from  waterline  to  rail 379 

Gay  go  up  and  gay  go  down 768 

Go,  stalk  the  red  deer  o'er  the  heather, 573 

God  gave  all  men  all  earth  to  love, 244 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  775 

PAGE 

God  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old, 377 

God  rest  you,  peaceful  gentlemen,  let  nothing  you  dismay,.      .      .      .  319 

Gold  is  for  the  mistress — silver  for  the  maid — 577 

Harry,  our  King  in  England,  from  London  town  is  gone,    ....  721 

"Have  you  news  of  my  boy  Jack?" 247 

He  drank  strong  waters  and  his  speech  was  coarse; 576 

He  passed  in  the  very  battle-smoke 233 

Hear  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead — in  the  North  by  the  torn  berg-edges —    .  196 

Heh!     Walk  her  round.     Heave,  ah,  heave  her  short  again!     .      .      .  127 

Help  for  a  patriot  distressed,  a  spotless  spirit  hurt, 259 

Her  hand  was  still  on  her  sword-hilt,  the  spur  was  still  on  her  heel,     .  214 

Here  come  I  to  my  own  again, 646 

Here  is  a  horse  to  tame 408 

"Here  is  nothing  new  nor  aught  unproven,"  say  the  Trumpets,     .      .      .  341 

Here  we  go  in  a  flung  festoon, 610 

Here,  where  my  fresh-turned  furrows  run, 242 

His  spots  are  the  joy  of  the  Leopard:  his  horns  are  the  Buffalo's  pride.  705 

"How  far  is  St.  Helena  from  a  little  child  at  play?" 596 

How  shall  she  know  the  worship  we  would  do  her? 52 

"How  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet  life! 39 

Hurree  Chunder  Mookerjee,  pride  of  Bow  Bazaar, 17 

I  am  the  land  of  their  fathers 554 

I  am  the  Most  Wise  Baviaan,  saying  in  most  wise  tones,    ....  670 

I  ate  my  fill  of  a  whale  that  died '  .      .      .  395 

I  closed  and  drew  for  my  love's  sake 562 

I  do  not  look  for  holy  saints  to  guide  me  on  my  way, 423 

I  do  not  love  my  Empire's  foes,      ..     .      .      .      . 546 

I  followed  my  Duke  ere  I  was  a  lover, 564 

I  go  to  concert,  party,  ball — 25 

I  had  seen,  as  dawn  was  breaking 31 

I  have  been  given  my  charge  to  keep — 587 

/  have  eaten  your  bread  and  salt 3 

I  have  made  for  you   a  song, 448 

I  keep  six  honest  serving-men 671 

I  know  not  in  whose  hands  are  laid 648 

met  my  mates  in  the  morning  (and  oh,  but  I  am  old!)      ....  653 

see  the  grass  shake  in  the  sun  for  leagues  on  either  hand,       .      .      .  570 

sent  a  message  to  my  dear — 101 

/  tell  this  tale,  which  is  strictly  true, 718 

will  let  loose  against  you  the  fleet-footed  vines — 703 

will  remember  what  I  was,  I  am  sick  of  rope  and  chain —      .      .      .  709 

wish  my  mother  could  see  me  now,  with  a  fence-post  under  my  arm,  527 

was  Lord  of  Cities  very  sumptuously  builded 660 

/  was  the  staunchest  of our  fleet 170 

I  was  very  well  pleased  with  what  I  knowed, 559 


776  INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

I  went  into  a  public- 'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o' beer, 453 

I'm  'ere  in  a  ticky  ulster  an'  a  broken  billycock  'at, 487 

I'm  just  in  love  with  these  three, 558 

I've  a  head  like  a  concertina,  I've  a  tongue  like  a  button-stick,     .      .  460 

I've  never  sailed  the  Amazon, 672 

I've  paid  for  your  sickest  fancies;  I've  humoured  your  crackedest 

whim — 147 

I've  taken  my  fun  where  I've  found  it; 502 

If  any  God  should  say 649 

If  down  here  I  chance  to  die, 35 

If  extended  observation  of  the  ways  and  works  of  man,      ....  331 

"If  I  have  taken  the  common  clay 606 

If  I  were  hanged  on  the  highest  hill, 701 

If  it  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  stalled  in  the  packed  serai, 68 

If  the  Led  Striker  call  it  a  strike, 210 

If  thought  can  reach  to  Heaven, 658 

If  wars  were  won  by  feasting, .*....  759 

If  you  can  keep  your  head  when  all  about  you 645 

If  you  stop  to  find  out  what  your  wages  will  be 426 

If  you  wake  at  midnight,  and  hear  a  horse's  feet, 720 

If  you've  ever  stole  a  pheasant-egg  be'ind  the  keeper's  back,   .     .     .  466 

Imprimis  he  was  "  broke."     Thereafter  left 90 

In  a  land  that  the  sand  overlays — the  ways  to  her  gates  are  untrod —  .      .  361 

In  Lowestoft  a  boat  was  laid, 717 

In  the  days  of  lace-ruffles,  perukes  and  brocade 760 

In  the  daytime,  when  she  moved  about  me, 575 

In  the  name  of  the  Empress  of  India,  make  way, 37 

In  the  Neolithic  Age  savage  warfare  did  I  wage 393 

It  got  beyond  all  orders  an'  it  got  beyond  all  'ope; 497 

It  is  always  a  temptation  to  an  armed  and  agile  nation,      ....  747 

It  was  an  artless  Bandar  and  he  danced  upon  a  pine, 38 

It  was  an  August  evening  and,  in  snowy  garments  clad,      ....  22 

It  was  not  in  the  open  fight 575 

It  was  not  part  of  their  blood, 739 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown 159 

It's  forty  in  the  shade  to-day  the  spouting  eaves  declare;    ....  407 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta 1 1 

Jane  Austen  Beecher  Stowe  de  Rouse 44 

Jenny  and  Me  were  engaged,  you  see, 20 

Jubal  sang  of  the  Wrath  of  God 622 

Kabul  town's  by  Kabul  river — 481 

King  Solomon  drew  merchantmen, 172 

Land  of  our  Birth,  we  pledge  to  thee 642 

Legate,  I  had  the  news  last  night — my  cohort  ordered  home    .      .      .  744 

'Less  you  want  your  toes  trod  off  you'd  better  get  back  at  once,  .     .  638 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  777 

PACE 

Let  us  admit  it  fairly,  as  a  business  people  should, 344 

"  Let  us  now  praise  famous  men" 623 

Life's  all  getting  and  giving, 689 

Lived  a  woman  wonderful, 237 

Look,  you  have  cast  out  Love!  What  Gods  are  these 573 

Lord,  Thou  hast  made  this  world  below  the  shadow  of  a  dream,  .  .  137 

Ixive  and  Death  once  ceased  their  strife 423 

Man  goes  to  Man!  Cry  the  challenge  through  the  Jungle!  .  .  .  707 

March!  The  mud  is  cakin'  good  about  our  trousies, 490 

Me  that  'ave  been  what  I've  been — 524 

Men  make  them  fires  on  the  hearth 93 

Mine  was  the  woman  to  me,  darkling  I  found  her: 183 

Mithras,  God  of  the  Morning,  our  trumpets  waken  the  Wall!  .  .  .  589 

Much  I  owe  to  the  Lands  that  grew— 652 

My  brother  kneels,  so  saith  Kabir, 740 

My  father's  father  saw  it  not, 614 

My  garden  blazes  brightly  with  the  rose-bush  and  the  peach,  ...  89 

My  name  is  O'Kelly,  I've  heard  the  Revelly 486 

My  new-cut  ashlar  takes  the  light 580 

"  My  son,"  said  the  Norman  Baron,  "  I  am  dying  and  you  will  be  heir  749 

Naked  and  grey  the  Cotswolds  stand 758 

Neither  the  harps  nor  the  crowns  amused,  nor  the  cherubs'  dove-winged 

races — 661 

No  doubt  but  ye  are  the  People — your  throne  is  above  the  Kings.  .  347 

No  hope,  no  change!  The  clouds  have  shut  us  in, 92 

"None  whole  or  clean,"  we  cry,  "or  free  from  stain 23 

Not  in  the  camp  his  victory  lies 366 

Not  in  the  thick  of  the  fight, 163 

Not  though  you  die  to-night  O  Sweet,  and  wail, 574 

Not  with  an  outcry  to  Allah  nor  any  complaining 598 

Now  Chil  the  Kite  brings  home  the  night 705 

Now  it  js  not  good  for  the  Christian's  health  to  hustle  the  Aryan  brown,  603 

Now  Jones  had  left  his  new- wed  bride  to  keep  his  house  in  order,  .  .  13 
Now  the  Four-way  Lodge  is  opened,  now  the  Hunting  Winds  are 

loose — 311 

Now  the  New  Year,  reviving  last  Year's  Debt, 28 

Now  the  new  year  reviving  old  desires, ' :  .''»•'.  .  187 

Now,  this  is  the  cup  the  White  Men  drink 324 

Now  this  is  the  Law  of  the  Jungle — as  old  and  as  true  as  the  sky;  .  .  626 

Now  this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  German  Kaiser  decreed,  .  .  327 

Now  Tomlinson  gave  up  the  ghost  in  his  house  in  Berkeley  Square,  .  411 

Now  we  are  come  to  our  Kingdom, 562 

O  woe  is  me  for  the  merry  life 309 

O  ye  who  tread  the  Narrow  Way 105 

Of  all  the  trees  that  grow  so  fair, 565 


77«  INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

PAGB 

Oh,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  ffest,  and  never  the  twain  shall  meet,  .     .  268 

Oh  gallant  was  our  galley  from  her  carven  steering-wheel    ....  84 

Oh  glorious  are  the  guarded  heights 355 

Oh  Hubshee,  carry  your  shoes  in  your  hand  and  bow  your  head  on 

your  breast! 231 

Oh!  hush  thee,  my  baby,  the  night  is  behind  us, 708 

Oh,  light  was  the  world  that  he  weighed  in  his  hands! 578 

Oh,  little  did  the  Wolf-child  care— 704 

"Oh,  where  are  you  going  to,  all  you  Big  Steamers,       .      .      .      .      .  765 

Oh  ye  who  hold  the  written  clue 240 

Old  Horn  to  All  Atlantic  said: 729 

"Old  Mother  Laidinwool  had  nigh  twelve  months  been  dead.  .      .      .  664 

Once  a  ripple  came  to  land 696 

Once,  after  long-drawn  revel  at  The  Mermaid, 400 

Once,  on  a  glittering  ice-field,  ages  and  ages  ago, 397 

Once  on  a  time  was  a  King  anxious  to  understand 753 

Once  we  feared  The  Beast — when  he  followed  us  we  ran,    .      .      .      .635 

One  from  the  ends  of  the  earth — gifts  at  an  open  door —    ....  200 

One  man  in  a  thousand,  Solomon  says, 594 

One  moment  bid  the  horses  wait, 56 

One  moment  past  our  bodies  cast 694 

Only  two  African  Kopjes, 535 

Open  the  old  cigar-box,  get  me  a  Cuba  stout, ' .      .  53 

Our  brows  are  bound  with  spindrift  and  the  weed  is  on  our  knees;      .  195 

England  is  a  garden  that  is  full  of  stately  views, 769 

Our  Fathers  in  a  wondrous  age, 632 

Our  gloves  are  stiff  with  the  frozen  blood, 733 

Our  Lord  Who  did  the  Ox  command 579 

Our  sister  sayeth  such  and  such, 699 

Out  o'  the  wilderness,  dusty  an'  dry 530 

Over  the  edge  of  the  purple  down, 677 

Pagett,  M.P.,  was  a  liar,  and  a  fluent  liar  therewith, —        ....  29 

Peace  is  declared,  an'  I  return 551 

Pit  where  the  buffalo  cooled  his  hide, 576 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.E., 6 

Prophets  have  honour  all  over  the  Earth, 621 

Pussy  can  sit  by  the  fire  and  sing, 674 

Put  forth  to  watch,  unschooled,  alone, 638 

Queen  Bess  was  Harry's  daughter.     Stand  forward  partners  all !       .      .  675 

Read  here:     This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 388 

Red  Earl,  and  will  ye  take  for  guide 263 

Ride  with  an  idle  whip,  ride  with  an  unused  heel, 575 

Rome  never  looks  where  she  treads 614 

Roses  red  and  roses  white 695 

Royal  and  Dower-royal,  I  the  Queen 200 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  779 

PAGE 

Rustum  Beg  of  Kolazai— slightly  backward  Native  State —     ...  9 

Said  England  unto  Pharaoh,  "I  must  make  a  man  of  you,        .      .      .  226 

See  you  the  ferny  ride  that  steals 555 

Seven  men  from  all  the  world  back  to  Docks  again, 156 

Seven  Watchmen  sitting  in  a  tower, 448 

Sez  the  Junior  Orderly  Sergeant 516 

She  dropped  the  bar,  she  shot  the  bolt,  she  fed  the  fire  anew,  .      .      .  702 

Shiv,  who  poured  the  harvest  and  made  the  winds  to  blow,      .      .      .  585 

Shove  off  from  the  wharf-edge!     Steady! 691 

Singer  and  tailor  am  I — 737 

Smells  are  surer  than  sounds  or  sights 541 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the  mornin'  cool,         .      .  458 

So  here's  your  Empire.     No  more  wine,  then?     Good 78 

So  long  as  'neath  the  Kalka  hills 66 

So  we  settled  it  all  when  the  storm  was  done 606 

Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 457 

South  and  far  south  below  the  Line, 755 

Speakin'  in  general,  I  'ave  tried  'em  all — 100 

"Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own! 574 

Strangers  drawn  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  jewelled  and  plumed 

were  we; 560 

Sudden  the  desert  changes, 234 

Tell  it  to  the  locked-up  trees, 568 

Take  of  English  earth  as  much 569 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden — 371 

The  Babe  was  laid  in  the  Manger 248 

The  bachelor  'e  fights  for  one 539 

The  banked  oars  fell  an  hundred  strong, 325 

The  beasts  are  very  wise, 635 

The  boats  of  Newhaven  and  Folkestone  and  Dover 764 

The  Camel's  hump  is  an  ugly  lump 669 

The  Celt  in  all  his  variants  from  Builth  to  Bally-hoo, 599 

The  child  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 757 

The  Cities  are  full  of  pride, 205 

The  dark  eleventh  hour ' .  266 

The  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 426 

The  Doorkeepers  of  Zion, 104 

The  doors  were  wide,  the  story  saith, 636 

The  earth  is  full  of  anger, 373 

The  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  bows  down  to  wood  an*  stone;      .      .      .  513 

The  eldest  son  bestrides  him,     . 77 

The  fans  and  the  beltings  they  roar  round  me 357 

The  fear  was  on  the  cattle,  for  the  gale  was  on  the  sea, 145 

The  first  time  that  Peter  denied  his  Lord 374 

The  Four  Archangels,  so  the  legends  tell, 582 


78o  INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

The  freed  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower — 291 

The  Garden  called  Gethsemane 112 

The  General  'card  the  firin' on  the  flank, 543 

The  God  of  Fair  Beginnings 175 

The  gull  shall  whistle  in  his  wake,  the  blind  wave  break  in  fire.  .  .  623 

The  Injian  Ocean  sets  an'  smiles 520 

The  King  has  called  for  priest  and  cup, 430 

The  lark  will  make  her  hymn  to  God, 607 

The  Law  whereby  my  lady  moves 698 

The  Liner  she's  a  lady,  an' she  never  looks  nor  'eeds — 181 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  rookies  in  their  time —  .  498 

The  night  we  felt  the  earth  would  move 710 

The  overfaithful  sword  returns  the  user  12^ 

The  People  of  the  Eastern  Ice,  they  are  melting  like  the  snow —  .  .  709 

The  rain  it  rains  without  a  stay 567 

The  road  to  En-dor  is  easy  to  tread 417 

The  smoke  upon  your  Altar  dies, 93 

The  Soldier  may  forget  his  Sword, 600 

The  Sons  of  Mary  seldom  bother,  for  they  have  inherited  that  good 

part; 436 

The  Stranger  within  my  gate, 616 

The  stream  is  shrunk — the  pool  is  dry, 706 

The  strength  of  twice  three  thousand  horse 1 64 

The  torn  boughs  trailing  o'er  the  tusks  aslant, 635 

The  Weald  is  good,  the  Downs  are  best — 558 

The  white  moth  to  the  closing  bine, 207 

The  wind  took  off  with  the  sunset — 710 

The  wolf-cub  at  even  lay  hid  in  the  corn, 607 

The  Word  came  down  to  Dives  in  Torment  where  he  lay:  ....  320 

The  World  hath  set  its  heavy  yoke 574 

The  wreath  of  banquet  overnight  lay  withered  on  the  neck,  .  .  .  286 

The  wrecks  dissolve  above  us;  their  dust  drops  down  from  afar — .  .  199 

There  are  four  good  legs  to  my  Father's  Chair — 752 

There  are  no  leaders  to  lead  us  to  honour,  and  yet  without  leaders  we 

sally, 117 

There  are  three  degrees  of  bliss 650 

There  are  whose  study  is  of  smells, 652 

There  dwells  a  wife  by  the  Northern  Gate, 108 

There  is  a  word  you  often  see,  pronounce  it  as  you  may —  .  .  .  550 

There  is  a  world  outside  the  one  you  know, 548 

There  is  pleasure  in  the  wet,  wet  clay, 605 

There  is  sorrow  enough  in  the  natural  way 656 

There  runs  a  road  by  Merrow  Down — 662 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  that's  near  to  Dublin  Quay,  ...  472 

There  was  a  strife  'twixt  man  and  maid — 605 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  781 

PAGE 

There  was  darkness  under  Heaven 678 

There  was  never  a  Queen  like  Balkis, 675 

There  was  no  one  like  fim,  'Orse  or  Foot, 507 

There  was  Rundle,  Station  Master, 505 

There  were  thirty  million  English  who  talked  of  England's  might,  .  228 

There  were  three  friends  that  buried  the  fourth, 607 

There's  a  convict  more  in  the  Central  Jail, 637 

There's  a  Legion  that  never  was  'listed, 222 

There's  a  little  red-faced  man, 449 

There's  a  whisper  down  the  field  where  the  year  has  shot  her  yield,  .  189 

There's  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 63 

"There's  no  sense  in  going  further — it's  the  edge  of  cultivation,"  .  .  119 

There's  no  wind  along  these  seas, 732 

These  are  our  regulations — 314 

These  are  the  Four  that  are  never  content,  that  have  never  been  filled 

since  the  Dews  began — 707 

These  were  my  companions  going  forth  by  night — 597 

"  These  were  never  your  true  love's  eyes 181 

These  were  our  children  who  died  for  our  lands:  they  were  dear  in  our 

sight. 587 

They  bear,  in  place  of  classic  names, 711 

They  burnt  a  corpse  upon  the  sand — 575 

They  christened  my  brother  of  old — 339 

They  killed  a  child  to  please  the  Gods 634 

They  shall  not  return  to  us,  the  resolute,  the  young 346 

They  shut  the  road  through  the  woods 557 

This  'appened  in  a  battle  to  a  batt'ry  of  the  corps 469 

This  fell  when  dinner-time  was  done — 73 

This  I  saw  when  the  rites  were  done, 603 

This  is  our  lot  if  we  live  so  long  and  labour  unto  the  end —  ....  ^68 

This  is  the  mouth-filling  song  of  the  race  that  was  run  by  a  Boomer. .  672 

This  is  the  sorrowful  story 404 

This  is  the  State  above  the  Law 329 

Three  things  make  earth  unquiet 628 

Thrones,  Powers,  Dominions,  Peoples,  Kings, 612 

Through  learned  and  laborious  years 570 

Through  the  Plagues  of  Egyp' we  was  chasin' Arabi, 511 

Thus  said  the  Lord  in  the  Vault  above  the  Cherubim, 184 

Thy  face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 97 

To  the  Heavens  above  us 654 

To  the  Judge  of  Right  and  Wrong 2 1 2 

To  the  legion  of  the  lost  ones,  to  the  cohort  of  the  damned,  .  .  .  483 

To-day  across  our  fathers'  graves, 351 

To-night,  God  knows  what  thing  shall  tide, 576 

"Tommy"  you  was  when  it  began, 522 


782  INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

MM 

TroopitT,  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea: 478 

Truly  ye  come  of  The  Blood;  slower  to  bless  than  to  ban,  ....  203 

Try  as  he  will,  no  man  breaks  wholly  loose 403 

Twas  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house, 45 

Twas  not  while  England's  sword  unsheathed 762 

Twenty  bridges  from  Tower  to  Kew 743 

Twixt  my  house  and  thy  house  the  pathway  is  broad, 204 

Udai  Chand  lay  sick  to  death 273 

Until  thy  feet  have  trod  the  Road 68 1 

Unto  whose  use  the  pregnant  suns  are  poised, 637 

Valour  and  Innocence 676 

Veil  them,  cover  them,  wall  them  round — 706 

We  are  very  slightly  changed 4 

We  be  the  Gods  of  the  East— 605 

We  have  no  heart  for  the  fishing,  we  have  no  hand  for  the  oar —  .      .  352 

We  knew  thee  of  old, 107 

We  lent  to  Alexander  the  strength  of  Hercules 643 

We  meet  in  an  evil  land 603 

We  thought  we  ranked  above  the  chance  of  ill 367 

We  were  all  one  heart  and  one  race 354 

We  were  taken  from  the  ore-bed  and  the  mine, 766 

We're  foot — slog — slog — slog — sloggin'  over  Africa! 538 

We're  not  so  old  in  the  Army  List, 224 

We're  marchin' on  relief  over  Injia's  sunny  plains, 484 

We've  drunk  to  the  Queen — God  bless  her!— 218 

We've  fought  with  many  men  acrost  the  seas, 455 

We've  got  the  cholerer  in  camp — it's  worse  than  forty  fights;  .      .      .  500 

We've  rode  and  fought  and  ate  and  drunk  as  rations  come  to  hand,   .  533 

We've  sent  our  little  Cupids  all  ashore — 179 

"What  are  the  bugles  blowin'  for?"  said  Files-on-Parade 451 

What  boots  it  on  the  Gods  to  call? 421 

"What  have  we  ever  done  to  bear  this  grudge?" 57 

What  is  a  woman  that  you  forsake  her, 593 

What  is  the  moral  ?     Who  rides  may  read 595 

What  of  the  hunting,  hunter  bold? 706 

"What's  that  that  hirples  at  my  side?" 727 

When  a  lover  hies  abroad, 604 

When  all  the  world  would  keep  a  matter  hid, 611 

When  by  the  labour  of  my  'ands 544 

When  Earth's  last  picture  is  painted  and  the  tubes  are  twisted  and 

dried, 258 

When  first  by  Eden  Tree, 640 

When,  foot  to  wheel  and  back  to  wind, 193 

When  I  left  Rome  for  Lalage's  sake 617 

When  I  was  King  and  a  Mason — a  Master  proven  and  skilled —  .      .  438 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  783 

PACE 

When  Julius  Fabricius,  Sub-Prefect  of  the  Weald, 666 

When  Horse  and  Rider  each  can  trust  the  other  everywhere,  .  .  .  756 

When  Rome  was  rotten-ripe  to  her  fall, 746 

When  spring-time  flushes  the  desert  grass, 283 

When  that  great  Kings  return  to  clay, 239 

When  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out  to  the  East 474 

When  the  cabin  port-holes  are  dark  and  green 669 

When  the  darkened  Fifties  dip  to  the  North, 103 

When  the  drums  begin  to  beat 730 

When  the  earth  was  sick  and  the  skies  were  grey, 573 

When  the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell  first  on  Eden's  green  and  gold, .  386 

When  the  Great  Ark,  in  Vigo  Bay, 620 

When  the  Himalayan  peasant  meets  the  he-bear  in  his  pride,  .  .  .418 

When  the  robust  and  Brass-bound  Man  commissioned  first  for  sea  .  716 

When  the  water's  countenance 724 

When  the  Waters  were  dried  an'  the  Earth  did  appear, 494 

When  ye  say  to  Tabaqui,  "My  Brother!"  when  ye  call  the  Hyena 

to  meat,  . 710 

When  you've  shouted  "Rule  Britannia,"  when  you've  sung  "God  save 

the  Queen," 522 

Whence  comest  thou,  Gehazi, 277 

"  Where  have  you  been  this  while  away, 481 

Where  run  your  colts  at  pasture  ? 166 

Where  the  East  wind  is  brewed  fresh  and  fresh  every  morning,  .  .731 

Where  the  sober-coloured  cultivator  smiles 86 

Where's  the  lamp  that  Hero  lit 651 

Whether  the  State  can  loose  and  bind 630 

Who  gives  him  the  Bath? 590 

Who  hath  desired  the  Sea? — the  sight  of  salt  water  unbounded —  .  125 

Who  knows  the  heart  of  the  Christian?  How  does  he  reason?  .  .  60 1 

Who  in  the  Realm  to-day  lays  down  dear  life  for  the  sake  of  a  land  more  dear?  256 

Who  recalls  the  twilight  and  the  ranged  tents  in  order.  ....  249 
Will  you  conquer  my  heart  with  your  beauty,  my  soul  going  out  from 

afar? 26 

Winds  of  the  World,  give  answer!  They  are  whimpering  to  and  fro —  252 

With  those  that  bred,  with  those  that  loosed  the  strife, 277 

Wot  makes  the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot  makes  'im  to  perspire?  464 

Yearly,  with  tent  and  rifle,  our  careless  white  men  go 316 

Yet  at  the  last,  ere  our  spearmen  had  found  him, 607 

You  call  yourself  a  man, 518 

You  couldn't  pack  a  Broadwood  half  a  mile — 113 

You  may  talk  o"  gin  and  beer 462 

You  mustn't  swim  till  you're  six  weeks  old, 708 

Your  jar  of  Virginny 618 

Your  tiercel's  too  long  at  hack,  Sir.  He's  no  eyass 684 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY.  N.  Y. 


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